


Slow Beginnings

by Nishiki_goi



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Awkward Spencer Reid, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Female Character of Color, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Interracial Relationship, Kidnapping, More Diversity, Opposites Attract, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Original Female Character, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Serial Killers, Slow Burn, Spencer Reid Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:09:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 71,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27132289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nishiki_goi/pseuds/Nishiki_goi
Summary: Over two years of her life spent at the DEA, Mariana is offered the opportunity to transfer to the BAU offices over in Quantico. She decides to take it and from there she becomes an FBI profiler. Everyday that Mariana is at the BAU, there is a case to review, and criminals to catch. Her dream of becoming a profiler was coming true.Mariana connects with all of her team members while at the BAU. She especially connects with a certain socially awkward, intelligent young man called Dr. Spencer Reid.(A fic I've always wanted to read, but never found so I wrote it myself.)*Starts in season 2*
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 80





	1. From the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own criminal minds and the established characters. I can only take credit for my main character and her story.

**Prologue**

_Two weeks ago...._

_My unit chief of the DEA called me into his office one day after the end of a successful operation: busting a small drug transaction rendezvous along the border of Canada._

_“Agent Sanchez, you’re being asked to transfer to the BAU.”_

_Well, I wasn’t expecting that after today._

_“The BAU, sir?”_

_“The Behavioral Analysis Unit.”_

_I gave a small, polite smile._

_“I know what the BAU is, sir. I am just confused why the BAU is requesting a transfer. I thought all the teams are filled up, and why me specifically?”_

_I quickly recalled one of the many incidents that happened inside the BAU some odd months back, a case they now refer to as the Fisher King case, a major case where a serial killer targeted the members of one of the BAU teams. Not too long after that, another incident occurred with the same BAU team where an agent of theirs shot and killed a serial rapist. Rumors were that agent was in the middle of being investigated for wrongly killing that person, until he or she resigned from the BAU not too long after. They must’ve gotten a replacement for them by now, so why-_

_“Well,” my unit chief said, interrupting my train of thought. “That was a decision the higher ups made; I don’t have that kind of power.”_

_I took a moment to consider what was being offered. The DEA was my number one choice within the branches of the government when I graduated from college. But the BAU was admittedly a close second. Maybe if my childhood were different. In another life, I would’ve chosen the BAU first without hesitation. I always found the minds of serial killers to be fascinating._

_“I can refuse if I wish to stay with the DEA, right?” I asked my boss of two and a half years._

_“Of course,” he started, “But this opportunity is a once in a lifetime. I honestly never thought they’d ever request a DEA agent for a position in the BAU, considering our line of work isn't exactly at all similar. But knowing they specifically have chosen you... now that I can understand,” he said._

_My brows raise at his words._

_“What do you mean by that, sir?”_

_“Well, in the past couple of years you’ve been working for me, Agent Sanchez, I have seen the way you interact and interrogate with major violators of the drug laws. You get into their heads, you know their moves and inner thoughts, you know the right things to say to get them to crack. They call that profiling up in the BAU headquarters, and they want you to assist them to profile these serial killers.”_

_A question popped into my head._

_“How did they know of my performance in the field? Our team hasn’t had a superintendent watching over us in almost a year.”_

_My unit chief nodded._

_“You’re observant- also a necessity in the BAU.” He took off his thin reading glasses. “I was the one who recommended you, Agent.”_

_He held up his hand before I could say anything._

_“I recommended you because you belong in a position in the BAU as a profiler. I know you enjoy being a DEA agent and it is what you wanted to be since you were in school. That is why I am saying it is your choice in the end, I merely just gave you an opportunity since I heard the higher officials were looking for a spare agent for a profiler. The first person I thought of, when they asked for my input, was you, Sanchez.”_

_This day couldn’t get any weirder. After finishing up some paperwork my team and I are to do every time a case is closed, I head home; read for a bit, watch some tv, dance in the kitchen while I cook dinner, and sleep, and I am content with that. That was what was going to happen after finishing up a nasty report on the drugs my team and I confiscated today, when my chief reported me to his office out of the blue._

_Now I was being asked by my boss’ boss, I’m just confusing myself even more, to transfer into another branch of the government._

_“When do I have to give my decision?”_

_My unit chief stood from his chair, straightening up into his short, stocky stature._

_“No later than two days, preferably by tomorrow morning. But you sleep on it, Sanchez. Again don’t feel like your decision is motivated by other people’s needs. Your choice should only be based on what you want.”_

_And then I was dismissed._

_That night I made up my mind while lying in bed._

_In two weeks I would be starting my position as a profiler for the BAU._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimers: I am not a criminology student, most of the dialogue from the established characters of CM in this story comes directly from the show, some subplots I come up with may seem unbelievable and apologies to that. That being said, the show itself isn't 100% ‘accurate’ to the real BAU of the FBI, so please realize I am only a fan of the show with no in-person knowledge of how the FBI works. 
> 
> I'm just here to have fun and create a story between my favorite fictional character & my main character I came up with. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. XoXo.


	2. First Day of Work

I was pacing again; I didn’t bother to try and stop it. Pacing is something I do when I am extremely nervous or when I need to think and concentrate on work. For some reason, it really helps me to concentrate even in the loudest place imaginable, like pacing almost cancels out the outside noises, and gives me a time of peace to myself and my inner thoughts.

However, this time I’m not pacing on the familiar hard floors of my apartment, or the tiles of the DEA floors, and not even that one time I was so stressed about my senior year of high school that I started to pace in front of my neighbor’s lawn for several minutes- no, I was currently pacing on an elevator of the BAU headquarters in Quantico.

_I can do this. I can do this._

It was just over two weeks ago that my transfer had been approved. Section Chief Strauss and a couple other unknown Section Chiefs approved my transfer. I still couldn’t believe it. It was all happening way too quickly.

I barely got any sleep last night because I was so nervous I didn’t go to sleep until it was around 3 in the morning. I had to be at the Quantico offices by 9:30 A.M, which meant I had to be there at least 15 minutes early as it was the universal rule of good first impressions as a new worker, which also means, because I live 40 minutes away in Fairfax (Not counting traffic) I had to wake up around 6:00 A.M; enough time for me to get ready, commute, and make it in a timely fashion. Also meaning I only had about three hours of measly, restless sleep. Which is why there was a cup of coffee in my hands, a rare sight, since I despise the taste of coffee. In fact, I was too early, it seemed, it was only 9:02.

I was provided a file by my unit chief a basic profile of my soon to be teammates. Really just of their names, but two of my team members I knew a lot about, as they were infamous legends in the FBI. My new Unit Chief is SSA Aaron Hotchner, a decorated agent of the BAU, known for his stoic, no-bullshit nature. He wasn’t the Unit Chief his whole career in the BAU, however; that would have to go to SSA Jason Gideon.

A lot has been said about him. Rumors. Some not so good, not so bad. I know he stepped away from the BAU from battling PTSD after the case of Adrian Bale, the bombing case in Boston, which happened my first year at the DEA.

Jason Gideon is the Senior Agent under Hotchner, an agent that has helped solve many serial killer cases, both men I look up to-catching some of the sickest and most disgusting humans to ever walk this earth. And here I was about to introduce myself to them as apart of their team.

Me.

I am apart of the BAU team now. Even though, there was a multitude of reasons why I chose to accept the transfer to Quantico, I know one of them was so that I could learn from and study both Agent Hotchner and Agent Gideon.

_Ding._

I stopped my pacing in the wide, clean elevator and looked up from the floor as the doors opened to the main hallway of the BAU level. I bent down to pick up my bag that rested against a wall panel, out of the way of my dangerous pacing.

I took in what felt like my one-hundredth puff of air today and let it out, then strode out the elevator, trying and failing to act like a normal human.

The see-through glass doors stood intimidatingly in front of me, and up close I could see the emblem reading ‘Behavioral Analysis Unit- Quantico’ I grabbed the handles in front, the chilly steel beneath my hands cooling down my admittedly, gross, sweaty hands, and pulled on the doors.

Once inside the.... bullpen.....

 _Is that what this is called?_

.....of the BAU, I didn’t stop to admire the desks around me with papers and files stacked on top of them, or the people milling about. My eyes roamed across the room, finding that to my left there was a clear path to the sudden difference in color of the wall.

The walls ahead of me were blue, with large windows and two doors parallel each other on raised floors with small steps leading up to them.

 _That’s gotta be SSA Hotchner’s office._

_Maybe Agent Gideon’s._

With the office in sight, I made my merry way over and crossed the distance. My heart started beating so much faster and a wave of anxiety rolled over me.

_God, what if I made a mistake. SSA Hotchner could easily replace me and I’d go back to the DEA. Or.... would I even be able to go back to the DEA and get my old position back? Have they already found a replacement for me?_

I was so lost in my anxiety-filled thoughts that I didn’t hear the nearby sounds from inside the room until it was too late.

A fizzing sound followed by what sounded like a can of soda being opened sounded loudly to my right.

Before I even registered what the sound was-before I even got a chance to turn my head and look for the source, a small, hollow, yet surprisingly impactful object, hit the right side of my forehead.

I cringed back in surprise.

 _What in the fuck?_

I looked down to see what hit me. A small cylindrical, black plastic object was on the ground by my feet. It was then that I registered the sound of yelps, along with the collective inhales of breath.

I reached down and picked up the item gingerly before looking up to find the origin of where the object came from.

Looking up, I immediately see four people observing me in a mixture of shock, amusement, and mortification. Just as quickly as I looked up at these people, they began to move into action all at once.

The tall dark-haired women turned swiftly toward, what I am assuming was her desk, and began to busy herself with organizing the papers on top of it.

The slim, blonde took a file filled with papers from the desk closest to her and began to read whatever was in that file, biting her lip as if trying to stifle a laugh.

The other blonde woman, with tousled waves, and black-rimmed glasses went to turn around and escape the situation, but found herself trapped between the desk and the people around her and faced back to me, frozen and just stared in shock with her mouth in the shape of a perfect circle at me, seemingly at a loss for words as she looked to be in a near panic about my possible reaction.

Finally, I looked down at the person sitting behind the desk, the one who didn’t instantly move at my questioning stare.

A young man with brown hair, a few strands of his hair lain across one side of his forehead, the rest of the longer strands tucked behind his ear. His light brown eyes were wide in shock, complete with his pink lips that were open in the same perfect circle-like shape as the blonde with glasses behind him.

I gave a small, gentle, and hopefully friendly smile.

_After all, these people are probably going to be my future peers. Can’t go around making enemies already._

“I think you dropped this?” I said, walking over to the man, holding out the object to him, honestly unsure how he managed to hit me from that distance with a strong enough velocity. It didn’t hurt, but I certainly wasn’t expecting that being a part of the warm welcome on my first day of work.

A couple more seconds passed by and I was starting to wonder if he was ever going to take it from my outstretched hand. My right brow arched slightly as I waited.

Then he stood up from his chair in a hasty manner. Shocked at his speedy movements, I had to tilt my head up to meet his suddenly unexpected, tall and thin frame.

“I-I am so sorry. I didn’t mean for that to hit you- I swear!! Um, I was just demonstrating a physics ex-experiment!” he rambled. His eyes were darting all over the place, his hands fidgeting in front of him as he spoke.

“I have been practicing this experiment all morning and they......” he gestured to the women around him, as I tried to keep up with his quick ramble of words. “They, uh, just wanted to see it over and over and over an- ".

The woman wearing glasses seemed to snap out of her frozen state, and turned on the man, giving him a quick slap to his arm, causing him to flinch his arm away.

“So you’re really blaming this on us now, huh? Way to sell us out,” she said in a hissed, high-pitched voice.

The other blonde, with straight hair and blue eyes looked up from the file I knew she was pseudo-reading, and was listening to our conversation the entire time.

“Wow, Spence, own up to your own actions like an honest person would,” she joked with a smile.

The man, who I guess is Spencer, looked like he was going to open his mouth to retort back at the pretty blonde woman, but decided against it and shut it promptly.

He reached over to take the item from my hand, carefully with just the very tips of his fingers, eyes turned to the floor near my feet.

I kept the smile on my face.

“A physics experiment?”

“Yes, or as he also likes to call it: ‘magic’,” said the woman with dark hair, coming up to me.

She held her hand out with a bright smile.

“Emily Prentiss.”

My mind whirred as I realize just who I was speaking to.

“Yes, you’re part of Hotchner and Gideon’s team,” I exclaimed, recalling the file my previous Unit Chief provided me.

“Yes.” she began. “And you are?”

_Right, I need to introduce myself._

I cleared my throat.

“Hello, I am Mariana. You can call me Mari for short, since we’re going to be teammates anyway.”

I reluctantly took her hands; my hands were still a little clammy.

_God please don’t be too grossed out by me already, I’m just really nervous today for obvious reasons and-_

“Wait- teammate?” said the blonde with glasses.

“Yes,” I said. “My papers were officialized just a couple weeks ago. I’m starting today. Actually, if you don’t mind, _Emily_ , could you show me where Agent Hotchner’s office is?”

All four people looked at me in a similar type of confusion at what I said, and I was starting to feel my face heat from having all the attention be on me.

The blonde woman with blue eyes caught my attention.

“I wasn’t aware we were getting another teammate,” she said.

“Oh,” I said, not knowing what else to add.

I started to feel my anxiety creep in again.

_What if it was all a mistake? An accident? I wasn’t supposed to be here. Someone must’ve mixed up my files then...._

The blonde gathered my attention.

“Hey- sorry I didn’t mean to scare you. I just usually am the one notified if we get any important developments concerning the team. My name is Jennifer Jareau. I am the BAU’s communication's liaison.”

She held her hand out to me and I shook it.

“Do you think there was a mix-up with my files then?” I said with a slight sadness in my voice at what she might say next.

“I can take you to Agent Hotchner’s office, he should know what’s going on.” She said, deliberately avoiding my question.

“Thank you so much, Agent Jareau.” I said.  
  
I turned my gaze back to the three people before me.

“It was nice meeting you all,” I said.

The man, Spencer, looked at me again.

“Don’t worry about your physics experiment mishap earlier. My head is fine,” I awkwardly teased.

He gave a small, awkward smile back.

I turned around with Agent Jareau in tow, wanting to die from embarrassment.

_That was probably the worst introduction that could’ve ever happened in my, or really anybody’s life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene was taken from [season 2, episode 12 (Profiler, Profiled).](https://youtu.be/E7ANqntnMtw) I decided to start with this season & episode since a lot of Spencer/oc fanfics typically start in season 3 or later and I think season 2 episodes like this is so good.
> 
> This scene with Mari takes place after the above clip happens and that is the last time Reid does his experiment that day. 
> 
> I just thought it’d be a fun scene to write and a funny introduction for Mari to meet the team! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! XoXo


	3. Profile

Meeting a well-renown agent such as SSA Hotchner is intimidating. I was _feeling_ intimidated, and I wasn’t even in front of the man yet. I was only in front of his office with Agent Jareau next to me knocking on his door. I was feeling overwhelmed just being in front of his door with his name plaque shining proudly on display.

“Come in,” came a voice from inside.

A deep and monotone voice Agent Hotchner was known for.

Agent Jareau pushed opened the door and held it open for me to enter. I smiled at her in thanks and walked in. His office was simple, with a multitude of black chairs and a comfy-looking black couch behind the door. I saw him sitting at his desk working on what looked to be extensive paperwork.

I quickly observed Agent Hotchner’s features, he had dark brown- almost black hair, brown eyes, a prominent brow ridge, and a stern-looking mouth, with a long outward nose. He seemed to be in his early to mid-forties judging by the deep-set wrinkles marring his face.

 _This was where I have no clue what to say next._

_Do I sit down? How should I get his attention? Goddammit, why am I so awkward. I wish I’d gotten mamá’s confidence._

I was pulled from my train of thoughts when Agent Jareau began introducing me to Agent Hotchner.

“Hotch, this is Mariana, uh-sorry I didn’t get your last name,” she said turning to me.

“Mariana Sanchez,” Agent Hotchner said, stopping me from introducing myself. “I was expecting you. Please, JJ give me and Miss Sanchez some time alone to talk,” he said to Agent Jareau or ‘JJ’, I guess was her nickname.

“Right, I’ll leave you both to it,” She said, closing the door on her way out.

I swallowed my nerves, standing awkwardly in the middle of Agent Hotchner’s office.

Agent Hotchner looked up from his files on his desk and nodded toward the chair in front of him.

“Please sit down.”

I sat down in front of him, waiting for him to say something, but he didn’t take his eyes off the papers on his desk, and instead of staring at him waiting for his response, I began to observe his office: there was an unlit lamp in the corner of the room, some standard official-looking awards, a large bookshelf that held large volumes of books, windows that shone the outside natural lights into the otherwise dark office.

“Miss Sanchez,” Hotchner’s voice interrupting my thoughts.

“Yes?” I said, internally cringing at how squeaky my voice sounded.

Agent Hotchner look up from his paperwork and looked right into my eyes with his. I noticed he had an intense gaze. Looking at me like a shark would a seal. Even though I found eye contact indescribably uncomfortable and the urge to look at his forehead or his nose consumed me, I managed to quell my discomforts and meet his gaze dead on as well.

This job was way too important for me to screw it up just because I was uncomfortable with eye contact. I had to keep in mind that this man was a trained behavioral profiler, if he senses my discomfort, and sees my eyes shifting away from him, he will think I’m hiding something from him, or that I couldn’t be taken professionally.

“Are you aware of who exactly got you to be on this team?” Agent Hotchner asked, eyes never leaving mine, his voice a steady, deadly tone.

“I was told by my Unit Chief back in Arlington, that some of the Section Unit Chiefs of the BAU were looking for an agent to transfer into this unit, and my supervisor recommended me. Then I had a choice to either accept or decline.”

I fished out my transfer papers and documents from my bag.

“This is my official transcript of my transfer- “

Agent Hotchner held his hand up, so I cut my sentence off short.

“And why did you choose to accept this position, Miss Sanchez? According to my reports, you were a DEA agent, a field agent, yes, but a DEA agent is not what the BAU needs. My team needs a profiler who can be of help in our investigations,” Agent Hotchner said.

I froze at his blunt, serious tone.

“I.....asked my supervisor the same thing. Why they chose _me_. I agree with you that a DEA agent is different from a BAU profiler. And he told me that- “

“I am aware of what your supervisor told you.” He pointed to a file in front of him. “I have your transfer papers,” he reminded me.

 _Ah. Just when I thought I was being a smart bitch too._

“I want you to tell me why you believe you are capable of aiding this team; how you believe you will be a valuable asset. I’m not going to lie to you, Miss Sanchez, I did not approve of this transfer, nor did I ask or want another agent on my team. We recently recruited a new agent just a few months back under the same circumstances. I wasn’t informed of your transfer until early this week, so I haven’t had many chances to meet with Section Chief Strauss to discuss the nature of your sudden transfer.”

_Well that hurt a little. Uh.... well_

_What would an alpha male like Agent Hotchner want to hear? I mean, it was clear he was an Alpha male, with his behavior and attitude, as well as his position as leader on this team. Many would’ve thought at first glance that SSA Jason Gideon would be the Unit Chief, and not Agent Hotchner, based on the age difference and years of experience. But when Gideon’s incident happened a couple years back, after his leave, Agent Hotchner was placed as Unit Chief replacing Gideon and he has stayed in that position ever since. I can see why. He was a serious man and acted as a fit enough Unit Chief, making sure that his team is treated the best that they deserve. Which is why he was grilling me as hard as he was._

I paused.

“I believe I can aid this team from my perspective of having been on a previous team catching the same kind of people you are hunting. I know that the DEA and BAU are different types of field works, but at the end of the day we both have the same perspectives. The perspective of bringing justice to those who deserve it. As a DEA agent, I’ve met my fair share of criminals bringing and distributing illicit drugs across the U.S and I can tell right now that my team’s main goal is to put an end to these criminal acts. The same goal your team is aiming for every time you get assigned a series of murders that a serial killer has committed. I want to be given the chance to show my skills of getting into the mind of a serial killer. I know if you give me the chance to prove my worth on this, I can show you my capability of being a BAU profiler, just give me a chance,” I said all that in one go without any pauses, my eyes never once leaving his.

I wanted to mention my Criminal justice and Forensic psychology classes I took in college, but he probably already knows all that in his little file.

A couple moments pass. Then a couple more.

I needed to do more convincing.

I thought about the cases my criminal justice classes went over. They were all cases that had the least amount of information of them on the internet, or in textbooks, so that students wouldn’t go and cheat by looking up the answers, and instead encouraged students to think like a detective. I thought back to my sophomore year.

We talked about a case led by Aaron Hotchner.....

“The kidnapping of 9 year old Josephine Pisani from McKinney, Texas in 1999,” I began, “was a case you were on as the lead investigator. The entire police station believed it was her father who kidnapped her as a way to get back at his ex-wife, Josephine’s mother.”

Hotchner kept looking at me, slight interest shone in his eyes, and in the slight tilt of his head, to see where I was going with this.

I continued.

“ _You_ didn’t, however. And it was your profile that saved that little girl’s life.”

“So, what does the profile suggest in your own words?” Agent Hotchner asked.

I took in a deep, calming breath.

“It couldn’t have been the father. He had a bad drinking problem; his credit cards show him going to local bars every night for the past 10 months. Even though witnesses couldn’t positively place him at any bar the time that Josephine was taken, the profile clearly indicated that he wouldn’t break his routine like that. He was too broken and reliant on alcohol to randomly stop one night to take Josephine. It just so happened that night, he was drinking at home, and not in a bar. The way Josephine was taken in public at a diner, her father wouldn’t have had the time with his full-time job or the intelligence to follow her and take her in the few seconds Josephine’s mother reported was how long she was out of her sight for. Eventually, the profile would show that it would have be someone close enough to Josephine to gain her trust to take her away from her mother. Most likely a white male, in his early forties. Probably a father himself, with a kid around the same age as Josephine. A predator. That profile led to the discovery of Adam Bennett, a married man who went through a court separation from his ex-wife, after losing his 8 year old daughter, Cathy, in a car accident exactly a year prior. Cathy looked similar to Josephine. They were neighbors, just a couple blocks away. Both girls went to the same elementary school. Cathy’s 1 year death anniversary was his stressor and that day he broke and took Josephine as a way to bring his family back together. He was completely delusional with his fantasy of becoming a family man again.”

I let out a breath after saying all I had profiled about the case.

Finally after long moments of silence permeating the room, Agent Hotchner straightened up in his chair. I was beginning to think he wouldn't say anything, and expected me to keep speaking until he heard what he wanted from me until he said something at last.

“Okay.”

He then stood up and held his hand out.

I hesitantly did the same and shook his outreached hand.

“I am not promising that your stay here is permanent. I still need to have a talk with Chief Strauss about your situation, but I can promise you that if it doesn’t work out with you being here, I’ll try to do my best to get you back in the DEA one way or another, so you won’t be unemployed.”

 _Holy shit. That worked._ _Kinda._

“I expect you to be on time every single day. 10 o’clock sharp, am I clear?” he said.

I nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing I was afraid about writing my first fanfiction of CM was that I wouldn’t be able to write the original characters correctly. I don’t want the characters to seem too ooc, so again sorry if you feel that way. I’ll try and do my best writing accurately how the characters act and talk. 
> 
> Happy Hallows Eve!! And for the upcoming holidays, Happy Halloween, and Día de Los Muertos.
> 
> Ciao! 💋


	4. Meeting Properly

_Oh my god._ That really just happened. I just talked to SSA Aaron Hotchner. My boss now, I guess. Agent Hotchner did say he had to talk to Chief Strauss, who I am guessing is _his_ boss, about my position being permanent or temporary.

I had that to think about later. I was too excited to think about that possible downfall at this moment.

I was still standing in the ramp area on the way to SSA Hotchner’s office.

Agent Hotchner gave me a few forms for me to fill out. Paperwork about my handgun qualifications test. I needed to pass it sometime this month, and then I’d be able to carry around a gun with me with certified FBI credentials.

_Today is formally your first day at work. It’s mainly going to be filled with paperwork of your instatement. The team is out front, it’ll be in your best interest to introduce yourself to your team. I decided to hold off telling them about you, I had to be sure just who we were getting on our team first._

The team. Well, I already technically introduced myself to them already. But this time, I would have to do it the proper way.

I head down the stairs to the main office, back towards the set of desks I was at earlier this morning.

Some of the same people from earlier were still there.

The dark-haired woman, Emily Prentiss, was sitting at her desk, talking across the space to the man, Spencer; whose full name I still didn’t know. Even though I was given a basic profile of my new team, I really only focused on SSA Hotchner and SSA Gideon's name because of my admiration for them, with the exception of Agent Prentiss, since everyone working in the government has heard of her mother.

Agent Jareau was also there sitting on the edge of Agent Prentiss’ desk. Only the blonde with glasses was missing from this scenario, maybe busy, but there was another person there, a man in his forties, with short graying hair. I realized who he was a moment later after noticing him.

That’s Jason Gideon. The senior Agent under Agent Hotchner. The one who started the BAU with his partner David Rossi back in the 70s.

Again, I didn’t know the correct way to introduce myself to him and to the rest of team. Especially after that embarrassing meeting this morning.

Before I even began to wonder how I was going to start a conversation with them, Agent Jareau noticed me wandering close to them started talking for me instead.

“Hey! I hope your talk with Hotch went well. He can be a stone-cold statue sometimes, but he means well,” she said.

I gave a small laugh.

“Yeah, I mean, there were some things that I didn’t plan on happening. But overall, it wasn’t bad, and I’m going to be staying here for now. I hope that’s fine with you guys?”

“Yes!” Emily exclaimed. “Another woman in the field. I swear I’m drowning in testosterone all by myself,” she joked.

“I thought Agent Jareau is on our team, and the other blonde women-sorry I-I didn’t get her name,” I said.

Agent Jareau laughed at this.

“I am formally the communication’s liaison, so I don’t get out in the field that much,” she reminded me. “And as for blondie number two, her name is Penelope, and she isn’t a field agent, she’s our technical analyst.”

“I heard a mortal calling for me and, so I have appeared,” came a voice behind me.

I turned around to see the woman I met earlier this morning, with a mug in hand.

She held her empty hand out to me.

“Penelope Garcia. Though most who have the pleasure of talking to me just call me Garcia. Penelope is a mouthful that is tiring on most peasants’ tongues,” she said, with no indication that what she was saying was a little weird to say to a person she just met.

I didn’t pay too much attention to her way of talking, however; as much as I did her last name.

“Ayy, Garcia?? Estoy muy feliz de que haya otra Latina en el equipo que yo” I said, smiling at her.

Penelope’s smile faltered and stared at me in almost the same way as she was staring at me earlier today.

“Ella no habla Espanol, su suegro es Mexicano, pero ella no entiende nada,” came from Emily.

“What she said,” Penelope said pointing at Emily.

“Oh, okay. Sorry about that,” I said sheepishly, looking between the women. I felt my cheeks heat up from humiliation. Although it was wrong of me to automatically assume a person with a Spanish last name could speak Spanish, I just wanted to connect to my new team. And I admit I tend to jump the wagon when I’m nervous.

I looked back at Penelope.

“Sorry, I assumed you knew Spanish from your last name...- “

Penelope gave me a smile.

“Fret not, doll face. It’s happened to me several times in my lifetime and yet I’m always stunned when it happens,” she laughed.

_Huh. Doll face?_

_At least she’s not bothered by what I said earlier._

I turned back to face Emily.

“I’m assuming by your accent, your parents are from either eastern or southern coastal Mexico, am I correct in that?” she said.

My brows rose.

“I’m impressed. And yeah, my family is from Veracruz, Mexico. And you? Where’d you learn Spanish?” I asked.

Her Spanish wasn't too bad honestly. She did have the slightest American accent, but also, strangely a hint of a _French_ accent as well.

“Prentiss’ mother is the U.S Ambassador, so she moved around a lot as a child, picked up a ’few languages’ along the way,” came a new voice I haven’t heard today.

I turned to see Jason Gideon watching me.

“Hello, sir.” I quickly said, holding out my hand to him. “I really am a fan of the cases you’ve worked on.”

He shook my hand.

“Pleasure having you on the team. You transferred from the DEA offices, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wow, DEA,” Agent Jareau admired from her spot.

“You’re so young,” Emily admonished.

I nodded.

“I get that a lot. I’m actually 25.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s not young at all,” Penelope sarcastically joked.

They laughed at that.

“I was aware of your transfer to the BAU,” Gideon began. “But like Hotchner, it wasn’t initially run through either of us, so we found out without much notice,” he said.

“I honestly don’t know what was going on behind the scenes with my transfer and all, but I’m truly excited to be here and work alongside you all,” I said gesturing to all the people around me.  
  
My eyes eventually met the man that was sitting at his desk, playing with a pencil in his hands, quietly listening to our conversation.

I gave a warm smile to him, trying my best to be as friendly as I can.

“I believe we didn’t properly meet the first time, let’s start over,” I suggested. “My name is Mariana Sanchez, and you are?”

The man stared at my hand with a nervous expression on his face and I felt a sting of rejection go through me as he continued to stare at my hand and not make a move. My hand slowly retracted with rejection.

“Don’t worry, it’s not you. Spencer doesn’t like handshakes,” Agent Jareau said.

Ah, I understood that. I don’t like handshakes either. People’s hands were so nasty, especially strangers’ hands. I don’t know where their hands have been. I just initiated handshakes as a nice gesture since it’s a big part of professional work courteousness. Personally I preferred hugs over handshakes by a long shot, but a lot of people found that to be too touchy in a business setting.

“Although, he has the ability to say this to you himself _right_ , _Einstein_?” Garcia said to Spencer.

Spencer cleared his throat.

“Right, right, s-sorry.” He cleared his throat again and looked up at me. “Did you know that around 80 percent of infections spread through hands? It’d be better if we kissed,” he said.

“Oh.... okay” I said, again, unsure of whether or not I should give a sarcastic answer to him. He didn’t seem like the type to appreciate sardonic responses. These people were something else.

“Okayyyy,” Penelope drawled out, staring in disbelief at Spencer. “Awkward,” she muttered to no one in particular.

I agreed this conversation becoming very awkward . Agent Prentiss actually left and headed somewhere towards the direction of Agent Hotchner’s office.

Agent Jareau also walked off in a direction, to.... I-I wasn’t sure where in the unfamiliar office she went to.

“Um, I didn’t catch your full name,” I asked Spencer.

“Uh, Spencer Reid,” he said.

“ _Doctor_ Spencer Reid,” Gideon said to Spencer.

“Ah, right. Sorry. It’s Doctor,” Spencer said, almost to himself.

_Doctor?_

“You have a doctorate’s degree?” I asked.

“I actually have three PhDs,” Spencer said.

“Three??” I said incredulously, making sure I heard him correctly the first time.

“One in math, one in chemistry, and one in engineering. I also have two bachelor’s in psychology and sociology- I’m working on my BA in Philosophy currently,” he said.

“Woah, that’s very cool,” I said honestly.

Spencer looked a bit surprised at that.

“Really?”

“Yeah, that’s super impressive that you put that much time and effort in college. I wanted to go for my master’s in criminal justice, but I didn’t want to spend another year at uni, so I stuck with a bachelor’s instead.”

Penelope guffawed at that.

“I felt that, sister,” she murmured, and then perked up to look at me. “Hey! If you have time, I could give you a tour of the office! Ooh, it’d be so fun!!! Pleaseee,” Penelope pleaded with me.

“Uhmm.”

“That sounds fine by me. Just don’t use the whole workday to show Agent Sanchez the entire building inside and out, understood, Penelope?” Agent Gideon said.

“Yes, sir. I’ll leave out the basement from the tour,” Penelope said, her face serious unlike her words.

She held out her arm.

“Shall we?”

I took her arm in my hand.

I smiled. _We shall._

I looked back at where Doctor Reid and Agent Gideon were.

Agent Gideon was gone, but Spencer was still at his desk. He looked at me and Penelope walking away for the office tour.

“Ooh, and that’s the coffee machine the whole team uses there. And, Ooh!! Over there is Anderson’s desk. He isn’t here right now, but you’ll meet him soon. He’s a cool dude. Very adorable. Oh! We almost passed it, but over there is JJ’s office. She’s always busy when she’s in there so I won’t show you the inside yet, but when the coast is clear, doll face, you’ll see the inside.”

Penelope was now taking me through a long hallway away from the main offices of the BAU. A large secure-looking door was ahead of me, upon a closer look I saw the name plaque printed Penelope Garcia on it.

“This lovely door leads to a magical place filled with deliciously amazing stuff any girl could ever dream of, well I guess I’m the only girl that dreams of this type of office,” Penelope said, turning to enter in a passcode to open the door.

Damn that’s some pretty high-tech security to get in.

Penelope led me into the room, and my eyes adjusted onto everything that was in the room. Which was a lot.

“Here is my bat-cave-slash-lady lair-slash-tech dungeon of pleasure. Whatever you wish to call it.”  
  
I laughed.

Penelope sure was something else.

There were a couple of desks lined up against the wall with several monitors resting on top of them, as well as the several amounts of monitors mounted on the walls itself. On the large desk itself were geeky assortments of things. Several kinds of toys, pens, and lamps of all different colors, shapes, and sizes.

How was she able to do any work at her desk with all these things in the way?

“Wow, I know I’ve only known you for less than an hour, but I can’t say I’m surprise that this is your office,” I said, admiring all of Penelope’s items up close. I picked up a huge pink eraser that had _FOR REALLY BIG MISTAKES_ labeled on it.

“That’s what everybody says, doll. Even my baby daddy says that,” She said.

I turned to her.

“Your baby daddy?”  
  
“That spot is reserved for the one and only Derek Morgan. He’s another one on your crime-fighting squad. But alas, he isn’t here today, much to my sorrow,” she said dramatically. Though I doubt this was the most dramatic she could be.

“Why isn’t he here?”

“He’s visiting his hometown for his mother’s birthday,” Penelope said.

“Ohh, I can’t wait to meet him soon then,” I told her. 

It was a shame I couldn't meet all of my team members today, and get the whole 'new kid at school' experience done and over with, but I could wait to meet Derek. It shouldn't be too long for me to meet him.

From there Penelope finished my tour of the BAU, and I stayed at her office to finish up my required paperwork. Today was a day where the team didn’t have a case to solve, so I wasn’t going to have my first day of work out in the field just yet.

It was close to 5pm when I left the BAU to go home. I said my goodbyes to Penelope, and we even exchanged phone numbers.

Driving back home was, as I suspected a pain in the ass. The weekly traffic took me close to 2 hours to head home. I definitely should plan on moving closer to Quantico once I find a nice apartment close by.

Penelope texted me once I was back home asking if I made it back home safely. Warmed at her generally nice disposition, I responded with a short text, _Yes, I did. Now about to take a shower,_ and headed to my bathroom and began stripping off my uncomfortable gray work clothes. It was just a plain, stiff gray blouse with matching gray pants, but I much preferred my clothing to be loose and comfy, oh and definitely with no bra.

I took my hair out of the tight bun I put it in this morning. My hair tumbled out to my chest in straightened strands. I looked at myself in the mirror of my bathroom.

My face was clear of any makeup. I hated the feeling of it on my face, so I didn’t own any kind of makeup products. Many people have said I have beautiful “exotic” features, ever since I was a child. I still don’t know whether that is a compliment or not.

I studied my features in the reflection. Narrow angled dark eyes stared back at me which I’d gotten from my mom's side of the family. My eyebrows were black in color and full, a little messy, the shape much like crescent moons. I had a smaller nose also from my mamá.

My lips were a shade of brown that were on the fuller side, complete with small dimples on both sides of my chubby cheeks. My skin was a dark shade of warm brown, another indication of my Indigenous heritage.

My hair, however, was a different area: thick, black curls that framed around my face in a crazy, beautiful mess. I loved having curly hair, though it could be a handful most days, it still was fun to create hairstyles.

Today I’d straightened it to make a first impression to my coworkers.

Before I began to completely strip off the rest of my undergarments, I heard my phone go off in my living room.

I went back out and picked up my phone, to see an unknown number calling me. I usually ignore those calls since I have everyone that I know in my contact list. So I hit the ignore button and headed back to my bathroom. Once again, I was in the process of taking the rest of my clothes off when my phone rings again.  
  
I see it’s the same number as before and I reject it like I do with all unknown numbers.

Before I even fully turned around my phone rang again.

The same number. 

_Ok, the same unknown number calling me three times in a row is really strange._

This time I answered it.

“Hello?” I asked.

“Is this Miss Sanchez?” came an unfamiliar voice.

“This is she,” I said.

“This is Agent Anderson from the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I am calling to inform you SSA Hotchner is calling for a recall of you and your team. You’ll need an overnight bag of essentials ready ASAP,” he said.

I didn’t ask any further questions.

I was out the door in three minutes, heading into the light traffic to Quantico.

By the time, I made it to the BAU, the whole team I met earlier today was already there at their respective desks. Agent Hotchner was also there. He looked at me when I walked up to him and the team.

“Miss Sanchez.”

“Sir, why was there a recall of the team?” I asked.

“Agent Derek Morgan was arrested for homicide by Chicago PD,” he said.

_Oh shit. Derek Morgan, my other team member I haven’t met yet._

“I want you to come with us. You haven’t worked with Agent Morgan, you’ll have fresh eyes on this case that we don’t have,” Agent Hotchner said.

“Yes, sir.” I said, unsure of what else to add on. The rest of the team were already beginning to head out the office, so I went ahead and followed them.

We immediately went onto the plane of the BAU en route to Chicago ASAP. From the urgency of Agent Hotchner’s voice, I didn’t have the luxury of feeling excited over my first official case in the field. Nor did I even feel excitement over the fact that I was in the BAU private jet for the first time.

I didn’t even realize how tired I was from the day’s activities plus my lack of sleep the prior night, until I fell into one of the comfy chairs of the jet, and my eyes shut, and I fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THIS CHAPTER BEING A LIL DELAYED. 
> 
> With the election that happened in the U.S this past week, it was a little stressful for me, so I didn't get a chance to upload this chapter sooner. How was your past week? 
> 
> Again thanks for reading!


	5. Chicago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows Season 2, episode 12: Profiler, Profiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow updates. I'm a college student. Enough said. xD

It was early in the morning when we landed in the capital of Illinois. I’ve been to Chicago a handful of times from my time in the DEA. There were a couple of drug transactions near the border of Canada into in some places in Illinois that my team had been assigned to intercept. This time, however, wasn’t for a drug bust, it was for a homicide investigation of a BAU agent from my newly assigned team.

One who I’ve never even met.

The rest of the team, I noticed, were tense and frustrated for the reason they were in Chicago for. I can’t even imagine what they were feeling. From what I learned from their reactions this wasn’t just a coworker of theirs, this was a friend.

The police station was a short drive away from the airport and we made it there in less than 10 minutes.

Agent Hotchner led the team inside to meet with one of the detectives. I was all the way in the back of the group, unsure where my place is on the team yet.

“Special Agent Hotchner; FBI, I’m looking for Detective Gordinski,” Agent Hotchner said to a man at the front desk.

A bald man appeared from one of the farther desks.

“I’ve got this, Chuck,” he said to the man at the front counter.

“How you guys doin’? Wally Dennison; CPD,” Detective Dennison said.

“Where’s Agent Morgan?” Agent Hotchner asked.

“Detective Gordinski’s in with the suspect now.”

“I need to see him,” Agent Hotchner said.

“When my partner’s finished talking to him,” Detective Dennison said.

“I have your superintendent’s personal cell number, and in the interest of not running roughshod over another police agency I’ve resisted calling him so far. I need to see Agent Morgan now,” Agent Hotchner said.

Damn, I would never want to fuck with Agent Hotchner for anything.

Detective Dennison didn’t look so happy at Hotchner forcing his authority, but eventually he relented and said, “I’ll get Gordinski- He’s the, uh, primary.”

And he walked off.

“I don’t like them calling him a suspect,” Agent Gideon said.

“Me neither,” Agent Hotchner said.

A couple minutes later Detective Dennison reappeared with another man, a heavier-set man.

He introduced himself to Agent Hotchner.

“Detective Gordinski; CPD,” said the heavier-set man, shaking Agent Hotchner’s hand.

Agent Hotchner got to the point of why we were here.

“You think an FBI agent, a BAU profiler, committed a homicide.”

“Actually, 3 homicides _at_ _least_ , over 15 years,” Detective Gordinski said.

My eyes widen at that.

 _Three?_ _Over 15 years?_

“You-you think he’s a serial killer?” Agent Jareau spoke up.

“This is ridiculous,” Doctor Reid proclaimed.

“Has he been charged with anything?” Agent Hotchner asked.

“I got 72 hours for that,” Detective Gordinski said.

“I’d like to see him,” Agent Hotchner asked.

Detective Gordinski turned.

“Be my guest,” he said and Agent Hotchner and Detective Dennison walked away to where I assumed Agent Morgan was being detained.

Detective Gordinski turned around to face Agent Gideon and held out his hand.

“Agent Gideon, right?”

“Yes.”

“I owe ya’ a big thank you,” Detective Gordinski said. “I had no suspects at all until you looked over my case for me and sent me this profile.” He grabbed a file from a desk. “Everything in it points to that son of a bitch, Derek Morgan.”

_What?_

The rest of the team looked around in confusion.

Agent Gideon was looking over the file now in his hands.

“I profiled him?” Agent Gideon asked.

“It’s all right there,” Gordinski said with a know-it-all tone.

“Detective,” Spencer spoke up. “A profile’s just a guide.”

“Yeah, this one guided me to him,” Gordinski said.

“They’re really more useful in the elimination of suspects rather than the inclusion,” Emily said.

I was starting to see why Agent Hotchner decided to take me on this case. Even though all their reasons were valid and fair, I knew they were pressing on this issue because Agent Morgan was a close friend of theirs. Maybe I could shed a different perspective.

“That’s not the way you presented it to me,” Detective Gordinski said to Agent Gideon.

“Well if I confused you, I’m sorry,” Agent Gideon said.

“I’m not confused at all."

“Look,” Agent Gideon began. ”Whatever it is in here that made you consider Agent Morgan a suspect has to be coincidence. You can’t rely solely on this.”

Detective Gordinski nodded, “You’re right, I’m not.”

“15 years ago, I was a new detective,” Detective Gordinski said, handing Agent Gideon a picture. “One of my first cases was a black kid. 12 or 13-years-old, found strangled in a vacant lot near here.”  
  
“Boy was a John Doe, right?” Agent Gideon asked.

“Still unidentified to this day,” confirmed Gordinski.

“Wait, a 12-year-old kid that no one reported missing?” Emily said.

“Ever,” said Gordinski.

“Four years ago, another body turns up, same M.O. Worked that case just as hard, came up with just as much as nothing. Nobody in the area had ever seen the kid before,” he said.

“No one’s looking for these kids?” Agent Jareau asked, as I wondered the same thing.

No parents, no relatives, no nothing? I didn’t speak up like the others were. I wasn’t sure whether or not my position as a profiler was set in stone yet, and I didn’t want to mess up the rapport the team already had. I still wasn’t issued a gun, or credentials giving me authority as an agent. And with the confusion about my paperwork as well....

Detective Gordinski continued, “Then a few months back, I attended a seminar that you taught at CPD headquarters. I told you about my case, you said to send you the file and you’d look ‘em over. This is the profile you worked up.”

“There are about three million people in Chicago. Your profile said I was looking for a black male, 25 to 35, with a knowledge of the area. Non-threatening to children-either knows them or is normal enough that he doesn’t scare them. A probable criminal record. It also said the way the body was placed gently on a mattress, not just tossed on the ground, indicated someone who was probably consumed with guilt, especially with the first victim. Your exact words are, ‘With a guilt-ridden offender, the BAU postulates the first victim is the most important’ and the unsub may still visit the place of the crime or even the victim himself.” Gordinski shut the file he was reading from. “Care to guess who visits my first victim every time he’s in town.”

Oh, wow.

That was a lot to unpack. I wrote down what detective Gordinski was saying in my notebook I brought in my overnight bag. Although I had a great memory from listening, and not so much from reading, I decided to write it down anyway because this was too important to just purely rely on my listening skills.  
  
“Can’t just be visiting the victim. There has to be more that,” Agent Gideon finally said.

“Sure. You said the unsub might try to inject himself into the investigation to keep tabs on it. Morgan has called our headquarters many times since he joined the bureau. Always about this case,” Detective Gordinski said.

“So, wait, he talked to you about it?” Spencer asked.

“Headquarters,” Detective Gordinski clarified. “He’d never call me. After I got your profile, I checked airline records. Turns out Derek had just left Chicago when the other body turned up.”

From there I wrote keywords into my notebook, remembering the important details Gordinski related back to us with no trouble.

I heard the rest of their conversation once I came out of my thoughts and looked back up at them.

“There are key pieces of the plot that don’t fit, detective. Uh, the age, 25 to 35, Morgan was 15 or so at the time,” Spencer said.

_That was true._

“Also says that age is the hardest to predict, and I should never exclude someone simply because of a discrepancy with the age,” Gordinski said.

I jot that down with a slight dip of my head. That was also accurate. I started to feel a slight shiver of anxiety roll down my spine at where my notes were beginning to lead me.

“What about the speculation that since he didn’t manage to leave any evidence at the scene of the crime that he most likely has a criminal record or previous law enforcement knowledge. Derek wasn’t even in the bureau yet when the first body was found,” Spencer said.

“He may not have had a knowledge of law enforcement, but Derek Morgan definitely had a criminal record,” Gordinski said.

I stopped my scraggly written down notes at what he said. 

A criminal record? How would Derek even be in the FBI if he had a criminal record. Every Federal agent had to have a squeaky clean record in order to become an agent.

And Derek was a cop in Chicago before joining the FBI-I remember Penelope mentioning that to me the previous day. He couldn’t have any kind of criminal record. Something was off here.

I didn’t get to press the issue as Agent Gideon took the rest of us aside to speak with us without Detective Gordinski’s company.

“We’re dealing with a desperate detective here,” Gideon began. “3 dead boys, no evidence at all, so he applies the profile directly to someone he already suspected. It’s easy to get tunnel vision that way.”  
  
“One begins to twist facts to suit theories instead of theories to suit facts,” Spencer said.

I looked at him.

“That’s, uh, one of Sherlock Holmes’s favorite quotes.”

 _Cool,_ I thought.

“We need to figure out who really killed these boys before they decide to charge Morgan,” said Gideon.

“What do you want us to do,” asked Emily.

“Last victim was someone Morgan was seen with. Conveniently, Morgan was already a suspect in the other 2,” he said.

“So someone set him up.”

It was the first thing I had said today towards this investigation. I figured I should start sharing with the rest of the team.

Agent Gideon looked at me for the first time since we landed in Chicago. He nodded.

“We should consider Morgan a victim,” he told me.

“Prentiss, you and Reid talk to his family, learn about him-especially around the time of the first murder,” Gideon said.

“Do we have the address,” Emily asked.

“I could take you,” came a voice from behind me.  
  
It was Detective Dennison.

Emily turned around.

“Oh, that’s okay,” she said.

“No actually, that’s not a bad idea,” Gideon said.

“Right,” Emily said, not convincingly happy about it.

“Okey-doke, lead the way detective,” she said to Dennison.

After Emily and Spencer left, Agent Hotchner came over to us and spoke to Agent Gideon.

“According to Morgan, he’s got a bad history with Gordinski,” Agent Hotchner said.

“He’s got a bad history generally,” Agent Gideon said.

He handed Agent Hotchner a piece of paper I saw Detective Gordinski give him earlier.

Agent Hotchner looked over it.

“Resisting arrest, vandalism, aggravated battery... this is Morgan?” he said in disbelief.

“As a juvenile. Look at the dates.”  
  
“This isn’t in his personnel file. He said he told me everything relevant.”  
  
“Then he either lied or he doesn’t consider this relevant,” Agent Gideon said.

“Since when is the criminal history of a suspect not relevant,” Agent Hotchner postulated.

I reacted at Agent Hotchner’s words at the same time as Gideon did.

“You just called him a suspect,” he said to Hotchner.

Agent Hotchner didn’t say anything further and turned away down into the hallway of the station.

Agent Gideon turned to Agent Jareau and said, “Get Garcia into Morgan’s life.”

“Yes, sir.”

Agent Gideon turned to me.

“I want you to stay with Agent Jareau, see what you both can find out from Garcia,” he said to me.

I headed to where Agent Jareau was sitting at one of the desks.

“Agent Jareau, Agent Gideon told me to help you with Derek’s records.”

“Right, of course. Take a seat,” she took out a spare chair for me to sit. “And JJ is just fine.” She said.

“Okay, then you can call me Mari. I know Mariana can be long mouthful to say sometimes, and it gets tiring,” I said.

“Don’t you say that.” Came a voice from the phone on the desk we were at. “I love your name- it’s so pretty. Like a pretty princess,” said the voice I knew belonged to Penelope.

“Hey, Penelope,” I said.

“Hey, doll," she said. "So, where do we begin?” Penelope asked.

“Look into his life, Garcia. No different than any other case,” JJ said.

Penelope gave a depressed sigh.

“I hate going through his life like this.”

“I know... but we have to, Garcia,” JJ said, also a little dejected by going through Derek’s life.

Penelope began pulling up Derek’s high school files. I settled further into my chair and messaged at the kink in my neck I was feeling from the awkward position I was sleeping on the jet ride over here.

I decided to accept a cup of black coffee an officer offered JJ and I, despite the gross bitter taste that coated my mouth, just to help me stay alert and awake, as for some reason I was still feeling tired even though I was sleeping the entire time on the jet. Maybe my body isn't used to the sudden time in the air.

While going through SSA Derek's life, I learned he was a football player and received a college scholarship because of it. Penelope seemed happy reading about this part in his past but after not finding much in his high school and college life, we needed to dig deeper in his past.

“Try...... going further back into his life. His childhood.” I said.

“Right. Ok, um......wait. He was mentioned in the Chicago register as....” Penelope said with giddiness in her voice then paused. “He found the body of a ch-child in a vacant lot in 1991,” she said but with a saddened tone in her voice.

JJ sighed next to me.

“That’s our first victim.”

“He never told me about this,” Penelope said.

“He never told any of us,” JJ said.

“Is there a criminal history on file?” JJ asked Penelope.

An officer came near us and JJ took her phone and brought to her ear, moving away to a quieter area.

I focused back, recalling back to Gideon and Hotchner’s conversation I overheard earlier.

_Resisting arrest, vandalism, aggravated battery_

That was Derek Morgan as a teenager.

I started to feel a little guilty going through Derek’s past. I mean it’s different going through a convicted _criminal’s_ life. We need to in order to convict the right person for the crime. But this was different, I was going through a colleague’s life.

I’ve never met the man before and here I was learning more about him through his records than in person.

“I’m Carl Buford,” came a voice to the right of me. “I brought Damien Walter’s mother to see Detective Gordinski”

Gordinski showed up.

“Carl,” he greeted.

“Stan,” Carl greeted back.

They spoke in hushed tones. Gordinski began to lead them away.

“Did you just say Buford?” JJ said into the phone, suddenly next to me.

I looked over at her.

“Hm?”

She hung up her phone.

“We need to talk to Gideon,” she said.

As if he heard his name, Agent Gideon came around the corner over to me and JJ. Agent Hotchner was also coming up behind him.

“Find anything out about Morgan??” he asked, looking at JJ.

JJ sighed.

“The record wasn’t picked up in his background check because everything in it was expunged and the file was sealed by a judge.”

“Forgiving judge,” Gideon said.

“It was based on a recommendation of an upstanding member of the community who took personal responsibility for Morgan,” JJ said.

“That sounds like somebody we should talk to for more background,” Hotchner said.

“Should be easy, he’s right over there,” JJ said looking behind Hotchner and Gideon where Buford was with the woman and Detective Gordinski.

Hotchner and Gideon got the attention of Gordinski and Buford.

“We are with the FBI, we have some questions we’d like to ask you,” Gideon said to Buford.

Buford turned around and began to pour himself a cup of coffee from a coffee machine.

“You folks work with Derek Morgan?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, closely,” Hotchner said.

“You knew him well as a teenager,” Gideon said.

“One of the finest boys I ever coached. Football. I run a youth center,” Buford said.

“I gather you were instrumental in helping to get his criminal records expunged,” said Gideon.

“I feel terrible about that now,” Buford said.

My brows drew together in confusion.

“You do?” JJ asked.

“Well, in view of what’s happened,” all Buford said.

“What’s happened is a mistake,” Gideon said.

“I’m confused, I thought Stan said there was all kinds of evidence,” Buford said.  
  
“There is,” Gordinski said, coming up to Buford’s side. “Thanks, Carl, you can take Miss Walter’s home now. Appreciate you bringing her in.”

“Of course, of course,” Buford said. “Derek Morgan. It’s still hard for me to believe,” he said.

“For them too,” Gordinski said.

“I can understand that. Derek had a way of charming people into looking past his deficiencies,” Buford said.

“Excuse me, deficiencies?” JJ asked.

“Well, you’ve seen the records.”

“Derek was at the youth center yesterday, wasn’t he?” Hotchner asked.

“Playing football with Damien Walters and some other boys,” Buford said.

“Carl’s the one who saw them leave together,” Gordinski said.

“Did you talk to him?” Hotchner asked Buford.

“I was working inside. By the time I was done, they were leaving,” he said.

“When was the last time you did talk to him,” Hotchner asked.

“I don’t know. Years,” Buford said and turned to Gordinski. “If you need anything else, Stan. Anything at all.”

“Thanks Carl. Appreciate it,” Gordinski said, and Buford turned and left.

I pulled out my notepad once more and jotted down important key words of what Buford said. Then I stood and did what I usually did whenever I need to think.

I paced.

Maybe not the best place to start pacing with many so people in the police station.

_Buford got Derek’s records expunged. And Derek comes back to Chicago yearly for his mother’s birthday. And spends time with kids at the youth center. But he hasn’t talked to Carl Buford in years? The man who got his records cleaned up. Why? What was the reason for ignoring Buford?_

_What if......Carl blackmailed Derek?_

_In exchange for having your record removed, you owe me...._

_Could be a possibility._

Agent Gideon walked up to me.

“You were writing in your notebook the while we were talking. You did so earlier too. Anything important you’d care to share?”

“Well, this was just to blot my thoughts down just in case....” I trailed off.

“Yes,” Gideon said. “And Hotch made the choice to bring you along for your fair judgement. Now, what do you have so far?”

I looked down at my notes. Unconsciously maneuvering my notebook, I _knew_ were a messy scramble of letters out of Gideon’s line of sight.

“If someone is setting him up, then he’s been following Derek around for a long time. Most likely someone close to Derek. If this has been going on for 15 years, then Derek must’ve known him since he was a kid, back to the first murder. He’s most likely an older man with how he’s stuck to killing adolescents. Going back to your original profile, he’s got to be friendly and normal around kids. Maybe an....influential person,” I said that last part with clear indication in my voice, so that he knew who I was hinting at.

Gideon gave me a nod.

Agent Hotchner strode to me and Gideon. 

“Do you have something?”

Gideon looked at me.

I took in a breath and told Hotchner everything I told Gideon.

Hotchner gave me a nod in agreement. I knew we were all thinking the same thing.

“Hey!” came a shout from the interrogation room.

I turned to where the shout originated. It was Detective Dennison.

“What, did we turn him loose?”

Gordinski bounded over to the interrogation room. A couple of seconds later he came back out.

“You let him escape? Gordinski demanded Hotchner.

_How did he leave?_

Dennison went for the phone on his desk.

“Hello, yes, be on the look out for a suspect. Black male, 33, six-foot-one, name is Derek Morgan,” he said.

Gordinski was _super_ pissed.

Him, Gideon, and Hotchner were in a heated conversation. I tried my best to not eavesdrop this time.

JJ, Emily and I were leaning back against a desk, looking down at the files spread out.

Emily just got back from Buford’s office. Spencer was also back after searching Derek’s house.

JJ went up to Gordinski and said, “You have to tell your officers that Morgan’s not a threat.”

We overheard Gordinski and his officers putting an APB out on Morgan. That was not good.

“Like hell, I will,” he said.

“But this-”

“Lady, as far as I’m concerned, he _is_ a threat, okay.”

JJ came back over to us.

“They’re beyond reason.”

Prentiss spoke up.

“You know, his mother said that Buford practically raised him after his father died, he mentored him, he took him on trips, spent all of his time with him. Basically became a surrogate father,” she said.

“Jason, I think I know what he was afraid we’d find,” Hotchner said.

My lips pursed. I knew where he was getting at as well.

Hotchner and Gideon went off without another word, Detective Gordinski and Dennison on their heels.

I twisted towards Emily with a questioning look.

“Do we just stay here?” I asked.

“Yep, unless they call us to head on over there.” She looked at me. “ _You_ especially are to stay behind. You don’t even have a gun,” she pointed out.

I sighed.

“You’re right. I’m not even technically an FBI agent yet. I don’t have any credentials either,” I told her.

“Hey,” JJ said to me. “Morgan can actually help you with your gun certification test. He also runs the FBI self-defense classes on Sundays, if you need any tips on fight training.”

“I actually passed my physical fitness test shortly before my transfer into the BAU, I just need to take my handgun certification test, but wow,” I said. “He seems like a busy man,” I said.

“He is. You’ll like him. Well- everyone likes Morgan,” Emily said.

“Yep, especially the ladies,” JJ said, chuckling.

I knew they were nervous about the current situation, that they weren’t able to go with Hotchner and Gideon to help out their friend.

I noticed Spencer was sitting at a desk over to the right of us, thinking about something, judging by the look on his face, chewing on his fingernails in a nervous manner. He was also wearing glasses now which fit his overly intellectual persona perfectly.

I walked over to him.

“Hey,” I said, a little nervous. It was always a little unsettling to me talking to people I barely knew.

Spencer eyes left the floor, and his hands left his mouth. He uncurled from his bent-over posture.

“Uh, hey,” he said awkwardly.

“Worried?"

“I guess I am. Just a little.”

“Don’t be,” I gave a reassuring smile. “Gideon and Hotchner are going to find Derek safely before anything bad happens.”

“It’s not that,” Spencer said.

“What is it then?” I asked him, hoping to start a friendly conversation with him.

Spencer didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds.

“I don’t know why he never told us any of this.”

I chose my next words carefully.

“Some people just do better with their problems on their own, especially with Derek’s situation. He just needed his personal life to be separate from his work life. It has nothing do with not trusting you guys.”

I leaned back on my heels.

“For me, I feel guilty whenever I tell my closest friends my past personal problems because I feel like it brings too much trouble and drama and it worries them unnecessarily. It’s just a big mess in general that I’d rather avoid,” I rambled.

Spencer listened to me attentively.

“I know what you’re saying is right, I-I just can’t help but think if...”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure Derek will need your support after this is all over, so you can make it up to him then,” I told Spencer.

He nodded and gave me a small grateful smile.

An hour later, Hotchner and Gideon returned. A couple of paces behind them was Detective Gordinski and Detective Dennison, and between the two of them was Carl Buford.

He looked disgruntled.

_Good, I'm sure prison will treat him well._

I expected to see the unfamiliar face of Derek Morgan showing up behind them all, but there was no sign of him.

Gideon came up to Emily, JJ, Spencer, and I.

“Morgan’s okay. He went back to his mother’s place. He’s going to stay here in Chicago for a little longer to tie up some loose ends,” he said.

JJ let out a breath, both Emily and Spencer looked relieved.

“So, back to Quantico?” JJ said.

Gideon gave a nod and turned around to where Carl Buford was being taken to.

We didn’t ask the specifics of what happened between Buford and Derek or of the arrest. We could assume what happened on our own time. We did sift through most of his life because of this case, anyway, so, he could use the remaining unsaid parts of his life to be private.

Afterwards the rest of team and I went off into the BAU private jet, past midnight to Quantico. For some reason, I could not get a lick of sleep, so I stayed up and read a book while on the way to back to Virginia, where I still need to make the drive to my apartment in Fairfax.

I sighed.

I was _not_ looking forward to that.

We made it to Quantico close to 2 in the morning.

Hotchner looked at all of our tired faces.

“This case was a priority case for a friend. I understand that all of you are tired, so come in no later than 11,” he said.

After we separated from Hotchner. I made my way to the main elevators leading down to the parking lot where I parked my car.

Just thinking of the 40 minute drive made me mentally sag from fatigue. At least it was so early in the morning there wouldn’t be any traffic but for some reason my body was tired from all the sudden traveling I’ve done within 24 hours. Was it even considered jet lag if I didn’t stay in one place for more than a day at a time?

The door to Penelope’s office opened and Penelope herself emerged with her bag slung over her shoulder.

“Oh! Hey. How was your first case in the field?”

“It went fine. I’m not sure how the rest of the team feels though,” I said.

She let out a dismayed sigh.

“Poor Derek, he’s been through the ringer. The rest of the team are going to be fine, they always are,” she said. “Anyway, let’s talk about something happier,” she suggested.

“I really want to stay and talk, but I need to drive home now. It’s already so late,” I said with a yawn.

“Doll face, let me drive you home, you look _tired_. Like _really_ _tired_ ,” she stressed.

I was.

“No, don’t worry about it. I live forty minutes away in Fairfax.”

Penelope paused.

“You don’t live closer?”

“No. The DEA offices are in Arlington, and Fairfax is pretty close to there. I haven’t been looking for an apartment close to Quantico yet,” I said.

“Hear me out. You can stay over at my place. I live closer here,” she said.

I stopped her there.

“No, really, I’m fine with driving home. I don’t want to bother you.”

“Nonsense! You’re not a bother. I want to help you out. You helped my Derek out, let me return the favor,” Penelope insisted.

I knew that with someone as stubborn as Penelope it wasn’t much good in arguing with her.

I learned my lesson after living with my abuela as a child.

Also, I was too tired to put up a fight, so in Penelope’s nice vintage-looking car, we went over to her apartment. It was an enclosed place less than 20 minutes away from the BAU. I’m glad I took up Penelope’s offer to stay at her place because by the time we pulled into her apartment complex, I felt my eyes flutter several times from exhaustion.

Penelope’s apartment building was simple on the outside, but the second I stepped into her apartment, it was anything but simple. It was a groovy-looking place, with several colorful decorations, not unlike the decorations she had in her office. It was pretty much the same style.

She even had a 70s-inspired beaded curtains.

“Again, like with your office, this being your apartment does not surprise me,” I said.

“Thanks, doll face,” was all Penelope said. And it was then that I finally noticed Penelope was also very tired from today as well from her drained voice.

“Can I use your bathroom?” I asked.

She led me to her bathroom on the right into her very colorfully decorated bathroom. I took out my spare clothes in my “go-bag” to change into a more comfortable attire for sleeping.

When I stepped out from Penelope’s bathroom after changing into a different set of clothes, I looked around to see where she went and peeked into the beaded curtains I saw earlier separating into another room and saw her already sleeping form in her bed.

I made my way over to her long couch and once my head hit the one of Penelope's colorful throw pillows, I was out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how was this chapter? I have been stressing over college work. I just finished a presentation, so most of that stress I had is off my shoulders now. But next week is the beginning of finals week....imma be stressed for half of December.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. No Way Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows Season 2, Episode 13: No Way Out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait again. I had finals to deal with for the first half of December. Let me apologize by giving you this 7,800 word chapter. This episode is one of my faves...... ;)

The first thing I noticed was a buzzing sound from somewhere behind me. The other thing I noticed was my sore back. I stretched out my back raising my arms up with a groan and sat up from the couch I was laying across on. My unfocused eyes took in my blurry surroundings.

 _Oh_ _right._

I took out my contacts, before passing out on Penelope’s couch. I rolled out from the couch to search for my bag I’d brought into Penelope’s apartment. I found my go-bag nearby and rummaged inside and drew out my large, black rimmed glasses and set them on my face. I prefer glasses over wearing contacts, because I have to take my contacts out regularly. I’m just so goddamn lazy.

I saw Penelope sitting up in her bed, her phone up to her ear. She was talking to someone, and by the sound of her gravelly voice, she also just woke up. After another minute, she hung up her phone and rose from her bed with a groan and walked over to me while simultaneously rubbing her eyes.

“That was Hotch. We gotta head to the office in 30 minutes. He also said he wants to talk with you,” she said.

 _Oh god. Why did he want to talk to me?_ _Did I do something wrong?_

My still sleep-riddled brain took some time recalling back to the case in Chicago. I don’t remember doing anything incorrect. Hotchner seemed like the type of person to request someone only for important occasions though, so I had to have done something wrong.

I went into Penelope’s bathroom with my go-bag in hand and changed into my professional work clothes; a gray jacket, white blouse, and gray work pants, brushing my teeth and my hair as well. It was starting to develop the curls back. After a couple of days of my straightened hair being left in a bun for hours, my hair pretty much resembled a dead bush you see in old western movies. Since I wasn’t in my apartment, I couldn’t take a shower and restore my curls, I also didn’t have the time to shower, so I resorted to putting my hair up in a slicked-back bun again. When I finally get home, I’m taking an hour-long shower to get my curls back. Penelope and I got ready in a quick 10 minutes and we headed off to the BAU.

We were in the elevator that led up to the BAU offices when I said, “Hey, thanks for letting me stay over. I really appreciate it,” I told Penelope.

She waved me off.

“Don’t you worry, doll face. You were a _lovely_ guest! At least you didn’t knock over any of my lamps!”

I gave her a look.

She sighed. “I’ve had really shitty guests over at my place. You know- the ex’s _._ So, you were a breath of fresh air,” she exclaimed.

“Why do you call me doll face?” I asked her. I’ve been meaning to ask her since she started calling me that, but I just remembered to ask now.

“Because, _doll face,_ when we first met, you reminded me of a doll,” she said simply, as if it were an obvious thing, and at my confused look I sent her, she pointed a painted finger in my face. “You have flawless smooth skin, a cute little nose, bright eyes- cute features. Everything about you is just cute. And you’re not even wearing makeup!! It’s crazy how some people are just blessed with model-like genes.”

I wrinkled my nose in indifference.

“I always thought I had a baby face because of my chubby cheeks. I was teased for having them as a kid,” I told her.

“Well, those kids don’t know any better because you’re really pretty, Mari,” Penelope honestly said.

I felt slightly embarrassed at her compliment. God, I don’t like receiving complements. I don’t why, but I never did. I just felt so uncomfortable with them. I don’t know what to say afterwards.

“Thanks,” was all I said to her.

“No problem! I’d do you,” she sniggered jostling my side with her elbow.

I scoffed in amusement.

The elevator doors opened, and we walked into the office, Emily and Spencer both sitting at their respective desks. Penelope gave me a thick smile.

“Good luck with Hotch, doll. Remember, he’s a sweetheart on the inside. He just doesn’t show it,” she said and went to her office.

I walked over towards Hotchner’s office and knocked on his door.

“Come in,” came his muffled voice.

I opened the door and shut it behind me, then sat down in one of the cushiony chairs available. Agent Hotchner was sitting at his desk, eyes on some reports and files.

“Sir, am I here because I did something wrong in Chicago?” I couldn’t help but blurt out after waiting in silence for a few more seconds. I always had a pessimistic view of everything.

He looked up from his files.

“No, Sanchez. In fact, you did a very good job for your first assessment,” he said.

“My first assessment?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “This was a little test for you. I took note of your involvement in this case. And you were the first person who theorized of an older person close to Morgan being the unsub- before we even met Buford. You acted like a profiler out there. I wanted to give you my congratulations. I’m very confident you’ll be a great asset on our team,” he said.

“Oh,” I said.

_Was not expecting that._

“Thank you,” I said finally.

“Your handgun certification test is scheduled to be tomorrow. 9 AM sharp. Don’t be late.”

“Right. I won’t,” I said, still stunned at what just happened.

I stood up and began to leave his office.

“Sanchez,” Hotchner called out.

I turned back around to him.

“Yes, sir?”

“Your credentials.”

He produced a leather FBI badge holder from his desk drawer. I took it into my hands and unfolded it. Upon closer look, I saw it was a picture of me I’d taken a week before transferring to the FBI. It was finally here in my hands.

 _Oh my god. I finally have credentials_.

“Thank you, Agent Hotchner,” was all I said, as I stared down at my FBI credentials.

“Hotchner’s just fine. Don’t lose it,” he said gesturing to my badge.

I nodded and rushed out of his office.

_I won’t._

Going into the Quantico shooting range 15 minutes before 9 AM, I was ready for my gun certification test to be over with. Penelope sent me a text earlier this morning wishing me luck. I rushed to get ready this morning, so I wasn’t late, and decided not to straighten my hair, and just let my natural curls out unrestrained. I already passed the handgun qualifications test when I first became a DEA agent, but because the FBI was a different area than the DEA, I needed to redo the entrance exams, the physical requirement test, which I completed earlier already, as well as the handgun certification test to enter the BAU. Most people taking the handgun test today were young FBI trainees straight out of the academy. I looked to be the oldest ones here. The instructor conducting the test was a short, stocky, bald man with a thick southern accent.

“The course is 60 rounds total. All draws must be from concealment. Starting from three yards: 3 shots in 3 seconds, strong hand only, repeat for 3 more rounds, 3 rounds strong hand only, switch hands, 3 rounds weak hand only in a total of 8 seconds. From five yards, it’s performed with both hands: 3 rounds in 3 seconds, repeat 3 more times for a total of 12 rounds. From Seven Yards: 4 rounds in 4 seconds, repeat for 4 more rounds, then fire 4 more rounds in 8 seconds. From 15 yards: 3 rounds in 6 seconds, repeat for 3 rounds, then 4 rounds in 8 seconds. From 25 yards: this stage requires the use of a barricade. Move up to the cover and fire 2 rounds standing then 3 rounds kneeling, all under 15 seconds and repeat. Any hit in the outline counts as one point. 48 out of 60 points are required to pass the course.”

I let out a breath at all the information me and the other trainees were just given.

_I can do this. I did it before; I can do it again._

It took a little over 10 minutes for me to complete my test.

I made it up to the BAU floor of the FBI with excitement bubbling up in me like how a child felt when getting a new toy.

Exiting the elevators, I went into the office where the team-my team was waiting for me.

Emily noticed me first.

“Hey, Mari! How’d it go?”

JJ and Spencer twisted to me.

I showed my target paper that held the 60 rounds of bullets I shot.

“I got a 55 out of 60.” I said with a delighted smile.

JJ and Emily gave a round of applause.

“Well damn,” came a smooth voice I’d never heard before.

I looked behind me and saw a tall, muscled man with light brown skin and coiled hair closely cut to his scalp. He held his hand out for me to shake.

“Derek Morgan- and you are our new member?”

_Derek..._

_After, the case in Chicago, I finally got to meet the other member of my team. Penelope was right. He sure was a looker._

“Mariana Sanchez. Mari is just fine though,” I said.

“Good to meet you. I heard you helped the team back in Chicago.” He held a sincere gaze into my eyes. “Thank you,” he said honestly.

“No problem. Glad to be of help,” I said.

“I wouldn’t wanna mess with you in a gun fight, little Miss. A 55 out of 60? Goddamn,” he said.

“Thank you,” I murmured.

“When do you get your gun?” Emily asked.

“Tomorrow morning,” I told her.

“You know,” Derek began. “The kid here failed his gun qualifications test _pretty_ badly the first time he took it,” he said and settled his hand on Spencer’s shoulder.

Spencer shrugged Derek’s hand off his shoulder.

“Quit bringing it up. It’s been a year already,” Spencer grumbled.

The whole team laughed at that.

Derek’s face held a grin and continued to chuckle despite Spencer’s grumbling.

“I’m just glad we got another curly head around here. It was looking a little bare in this office, if you get what I’m saying,” he said with a wink in my direction.

I smiled and gave a little laugh at that. He was quite the charmer. I can see how he’s popular with the ladies.

“Oh hey, you!!!”

I looked back to see Penelope coming up behind me. She looked at me expectedly.

“So- did you pass?” she asked.

“Hell yeah, I did,” I said to her holding up the sheet of target paper.

She squealed and clapped her hands together.

“Let’s go get ice cream to celebrate!” she said.

“It’s almost 10 AM!” I said.

“So? I had a donut on the way to work, screw the rules of normal breakfast foods,” Penelope said.

Before I could give back another retort, JJ spoke behind us.

“Sorry. No ice cream today,” JJ said.

She was holding up a file in her hand.

“We got a case,” she said.

“Shoot,” Penelope said.

“Another time,” I told her.

The team made their way to where I assumed was a conference room of sorts, so I followed them onto a ramp in an unfamiliar room. It was a medium sized room with a TV on the back wall. The team went and sat down in their respective seats. Emily sat in the front nearest to the monitor, Derek next to her, on the other side of the table, Spencer was sitting opposite of Emily with Hotchner next to him. Gideon wasn’t present. Quickly, so I wouldn’t just be standing there awkwardly I took the seat next to Derek. He flashed me a quick grin.

JJ walked up to the front of the monitor screen.

“1996,” she began. “The ribcage of a male was found in the Desert Rose national park.” On the screen there was a photo of a partially remaining ribcage clad with dirt. It wasn’t too hard seeing human remains on screen, and I wondered if I would have that same mindset when seeing crime scenes in person. In the DEA, I would sometimes have to shoot at suspects who ran from arrests, and in some instances my team members would shoot and also sometimes kill our suspects we’re going after, so I _have_ seen dead people before. But I’ve never had to experience victims who’ve been dead for a period of time, at the hands of a serial killer. I’m going to have to ready myself for that scenario soon in order to be a profiler.

“It was never identified.” JJ continued on. “This morning, the remains of 2 victims were found in almost exactly the same area.”

Then on the monitor, an image of a decapitated female arm, and a male torso, opened through the middle with its cavity exposed showed up. Again, it wasn’t too hard looking at the pictures onscreen which were definitely more gruesome than the previous one. Maybe because my stomach was empty.

“Well one year later is cause for concern, but 10 years? That could be a coincidence,” Emily said.

“It would be.....” Spencer said, suddenly out of his chair walking over to Emily, placing the file in front of her. “If the unidentified male wasn’t missing a right rib bone.”

“And the torso found this morning is missing exactly the same bone,” Hotchner said, standing as well.

“Both of them seem to be surgically removed, and the advanced rate of decomposition on the male means that he died far before the female,” Spencer said.

“Oh, Katherine Hale. They found a bracelet on her wrist. She ran away about 2 weeks ago from her small Colorado town,” JJ said.

“Unsub’s crossing state lines. He’s mobile,” Hotchner said.

Unsub AKA unknown subject.

“If the remains are related to the same killer, where’s he been for 10 years?” Derek asked.

“Killing,” said Gideon who came in the room with a box in his hands. “Unsolved cases files going back 30 years.” He set the box down on the table and chucked several files down onto the table. We all grabbed one file. “Every case, the victimology is the same. The unwanted. This box is just the tip of the iceberg. 13 cases spanning 30 years. Same M.O. Right rib bone is missing. It’s him, Hotch. It’s the same killer.”

I looked into one of the files of a report in 1996 that held a photo of a very decomposed ribcage with the right rib bone reported missing. Female. Age between 25-35 years. Jane Doe.

“All the remains were dumped in remote areas and always near interstate 80. And up till now, no remains this intact or this close to the actual time of kill have been found,” Hotchner said.

“Never 2 victims dumped at the same time in the same place,” Gideon said.

“All of these killings, the work of just one man?” Emily asked.

“The most prolific serial killer ever,” Gideon said.

_Jesus Christ._

_All of these people?_

_By one person?_

_A serial killer._

“We’re heading to Golconda, Nevada. Wheel’s up in thirty,” Hotchner said.

“Sanchez,” Hotchner looked at me. “Do you have a go-bag ready? I didn’t get to explain it earlier, but you need one ready with a couple of sets of clothing for at least a couple days every time we get called on a case.”

“Yes, sir, I do. It’s in my car, I’ll go get it,” I told him.

He nodded.

“Do so.”

In exactly 30 minutes, the team and I were on the private jet of the BAU, with the exception of JJ, who stayed behind with Penelope. Now that I wasn’t sleep-deprived, and all of my team were present and safe, I could now admire the inside of the jet. The jet was a nice, beige color, with comfy-looking chairs also in a matching color. There was also a small kitchen towards the back of the jet, with a mini fridge and a coffee machine; and near the kitchen was a small bathroom. Despite my disgust for coffee, I decided to grab myself a cup, if this case was going to be like the last one, then I need the caffeine to stay awake the entire time.

Derek looked at me with the coffee in my hand.

“Why do you look like someone just pissed in your drink, sweetness?”

I laughed. “I’m just not a fan of the taste of coffee,” I said.

Before he could say anything else, the rest of the team began to settle into the jet.

The team sat in their respective seats, and once again I didn’t know where to sit. I just chose one end of the main long couch adjacent to the four seats facing each other across a table. Spencer, Emily, Derek, and Hotchner sat in the main 4 seats. Gideon was in one of the single seats near the front exit.

“So,” Derek started. “Where do we begin?”

“Uh, we should start with victimology?” I suggested, quietly.

“There isn’t much to go off on,” Emily said.

I nodded. “This guy crosses race, gender, and age boundaries.”

“Yeah, not much to go off,” Emily said.

“How has this guy been getting away for thirty years-who’s to say these are his only victims,” Derek said.

“You know, if he’s been killing monthly for exactly thirty years, then this unsub could have up to 360 victims,” Spencer said impassively, as if he weren’t talking about a human being murdering hundreds of people.

No one immediately said anything to Spencer’s comment. It seemed to me that they were used to him making comments like this.

“Now’s not the time for speculation of what may or may not be,” Hotchner said. “Gideon, Morgan, Prentiss, we will go to the recent crime scene in Desert Rose park.”

Hotchner looked at me.

“Sanchez,” he said, and my eyes met his.

“You and Reid head over to the Golconda police station. Get us set up over there and get the M.E’s report.”

I gave a nod to Hotchner.

My first case as an ‘official’ FBI agent now that I have FBI credentials now and passed my gun certification test.

_Hopefully I don’t fuck it up_

Once the jet landed in the town of Golconda, Spencer and I made our way to one of the Nevada police cars that was waiting for us, a deputy sitting in the driver’s seat. Spencer and I got into the car, with Spencer in the passenger seat and me in the back seat. It was a 20 minute drive to the Golconda police station, the officer who drove us dropped us off at the front of the police station. Spencer and I went through the front doors, to the front desk of the relatively small station.

A sheriff was at the main desk.

“Hello,” I introduced myself when I realized Spencer wasn’t going to. “We’re with the FBI.”

“Credentials, please,” the sheriff said with a disinterested tone.

I looked to Spencer to see if he was going to show his credentials, but instead he was looking around the inside of the station instead of paying attention to the conversation at hand.

I took out my credentials I’d gotten a day ago and handed it over to the man.

He took a quick look at it and tossed it back unceremoniously onto the counter before turning away.

I grabbed my credentials back up right after he flung it and placed it in back into my inner jacket pocket.

“Is it just me, or do you get the feeling that we’re not welcomed here,” Spencer said to me as we walked over to the other side of the counter. His brown messenger bag brushed against my hip as we squeezed through the small entrance of the counter. 

“It’s not us,” I told him. “It’s what we represent. The government is not that popular out here,” I said, recalling how some smaller counties, such as Golconda tended to reject any government involvement.

We were walking up to the main desk to speak to one of the officers up front, when a women’s shout reverberated across the station.

“No!”

Then suddenly from a doorway ahead, a police officer came out dragging a small, older blonde woman out by her arms.

“No, you can’t make me go!! I know what my rights are! No, don’t make me go! No- I don’t want to go home! I know my rights!!”

She was fighting the police officer, trying to gain control over her body from the bigger man holding her. She continued to scream her head off. The young officer escorting her out seemed annoyed but also well accustomed with the older woman’s behavior.

The blonde women suddenly looked over at me, passing by as she continued her struggle with the officer.

“What are you looking at, princess?!” she growled out at me.

My brows rose.

Spencer’s wide eyes looked over at me with just as much disbelief and shock I was feeling at what was happening.

The officer and the woman were in a big shuffle now behind us. He was dragging her to the exit, out of jail, while she appeared to want to _stay_ in jail.

_What in the hell is happening._

I felt a slight touch of amusement course through me. Sure it was weird and all that this women was refusing to leave jail and the scene she was making was obscenely absurd, but honestly it was admittedly also kinda funny to watch.

I saw the woman bring her arm up to jab her elbow up into the officer’s nose, but at the last second he managed to block her attack just in time and regained control back over her arms once more.

Apparently that was the last straw for him.

“Okay, _okay_! If that’s the way you want it, Jane, back to jail,” he said.

“I do, I do!” Jane said.

“Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay,” She repeated over and over again as if to assure him she’s not showing any more hostility.

I thought the show was over, so I began to look away when all of a sudden Jane shoved the officer away from her, causing him to stumble forward, and swiveled towards Spencer.

She grabbed the front of Spencer’s gray fleece in her tight fists, pulling his body towards hers.

“He’s coming. He’s coming back, and there’s nothing you can do about it!!!” she said, her blue eyes never leaving Spencer’s.

And poor Spencer looked so uncomfortable with Jane grabbing him. I mean, who wouldn’t be, a weird stranger grabbing you out of nowhere is not fun, but I knew Spencer especially was with his aversion for physical contact.

_Uh. What do I do in this situation? Should I take Spencer away from Jane? But then again, he doesn’t like physical contact, so he might not like my touch to help him out._

The police officer regained his footing and grabbed Jane’s hands which were still clutching Spencer’s clothing.

“Jane. Jane!”

Spencer looked like he was unsure of what to do. His arms were in a tight, locked position at a 90 degree angle, fists closed, so as to not accidently touch Jane. He snuck a fleeting look of helplessness at me that let me know he needed my help. I snapped out of my stupor and reached out to grab one of the Jane’s arms and helped the officer release her grip from Spencer.

“Do you hear me?! Nothing, nothing!!!” she continued to wail as the officer, and I managed to tear her strong grip away from Spencer.

Damn, she has one hell of a grip.

Spencer calmly slid his hands into his front pants pocket, even though his face was anything but calm, as he held a very disgruntled look at Jane. So he also thought she was crazy. Glad him and I were on the same page.

“Come on, Jane! Come on!”

As the police dragged Jane’s almost limp figure across the floor, a dark brown wooden object fell from her pocket.

“Ah, ah!”

Jane began lunging as much as she could to get the item, but the officer kept dragging her away towards, what I assume was a holding cell.

I began to pick it up for her. Making sure I held it by the tips of my fingers, wary of _what_ exactly it was and how clean it was.

“Excuse me. She dropped this,” I said to the officer, holding the, whatever it was, to him.

The officer held his hand up to decline.

“It’s harmless,” I insisted, really just wanting someone to take the mysterious thing from my hand.

Jane grabbed for the item in my hand, also grabbing my hand in the process.

I recoiled back. I tried to get my hand back, but she held onto me with her tight grasp.

She just gazed directly into my eyes. Then her clutch loosened up a bit.

“Thank you,” she breathed out.

I gave a slight nod, frozen.

“What is it?” I asked her, despite my better judgement.

She didn’t answer. She just put it up against her mouth and blew, and a small flute-like sound came out of it- it was an instrument, I guess. And she kept blowing into it as she was escorted into her holding cell.

I just stared after her retreating form.

“A psycho with a whistle,” Spencer said from behind me. “That’s not too weird.”

God, I hope we don’t have to hear that whistling the entire time we’re here.

Spencer and I got introduced by sheriff Silo, a man with dark eyes and tanned skin, and set us up in the station. There was a table, where we could work at. I began to set up our small work area, while also calling the M.E for his reports of the bodies he examined. Spencer got a call on his cell phone.

“That was Hotch,” he said. “He and the team are coming here from the crime scene in 20 minutes.”

I nodded at Spencer.

I figured that since I had to spend some time with Spencer, I might as well get to know him better.

“So, I remember you mentioned you had-sorry, how many PHDs?” I asked him.

“Three,” he reminded me.

“Why’d you get three PHDs? That’s a lot of work,” I said.

“I-I graduated from high school when I was 12-years-old, my professors decided it’d be advantageous for me to study in as many areas I can. So, I studied mathematics, engineering, and chemistry since…. since I found them easy for me to complete while also getting my B.A’s in psychology and sociology,” he said.

“Wait-you graduated from high school at twelve??” I asked in disbelief.

He gave me a nod.

“Wow, you’re really smart,” I blurted out. I cringed internally.

_Why’d I say that? He must get that a lot. Please don’t find me weird._

“Even though intelligence cannot be accurately quantified, I do have an I.Q of 187, an eidetic memory, and can read about 20,000 words per minute,” he said.

He said that all indifferently, as if it wasn’t a remarkable feat, but just a matter of fact- however not in a way where he sounded arrogant or like a know-it-all, just being truthful. All I could do was stare at him in thinly veiled amazement.

I was staring at him for a bit, to the point where I can feel he was getting a little uncomfortable.

_Shit_

“Sorry,” I said.

“I’m just really impressed. I’ve never met someone like you before. I’d love to read as fast you do. Then, maybe I’d be able to finish all the books I want to read.”

“You read books too?” he asked, almost perking up.

“Yes, I _love_ to read. I’m such a book worm,” I expressed happily. God I’m such a nerd. “What kind of books do you like?” I asked.

“I tend to usually read nonfiction books consisting of physics, chemistry, and psychology.”

“Oh,” I said, deflating a bit from the excitement I felt a couple seconds ago.

I guess I wasn’t too surprise with Spencer’s preference in books, but still it was a little bizarre to hear that people enjoyed reading essentially _textbooks_ in their free time.

“I only read fiction. I absolutely love Fantasy,” I told him.

He gave me a slight shake of his head, a thoughtful look on his face.

“I read more fiction books when I was a kid, my favorite book was _Alice’s Adventure in Wonderland_ because it let me escape from the real world for a little bit.”

“I can see why you’d want that. I use Fantasy books to escape from the real world right now,” I told him.

I felt a warm feeling in my chest from Spencer and I’s conversation. It felt good to be friendly with someone. I forgot how making friends felt like, it’d been so long. Probably since college. Back in the DEA, although I wasn’t technically a loner, I wasn’t really “ _friends_ _friends_ ” with any of my coworkers. I was one of the youngest, most of my DEA coworkers being in their 40s, so it was a little hard to connect with them. They had wives, husbands, and children they often talked about. I had none of those, so I always stayed quiet whenever they brought it up. With my new team, while I was again, one of the youngest members, along with Spencer, it felt different this time. Even though I just met them recently, I felt more connected to them than any of my DEA coworkers of two years. They were... different somehow. I don’t know if Derek or Emily were married, or if Hotchner had kids, but I am still holding out hope I'll get to find out soon.

Spencer and I waited not too long for the team to arrive at the station.

The medical examiner sent over the reports of the bodies he did autopsies on a couple minutes before the team came and Spencer’s skill to read 20,000 words a minute came in handy and he was able to finish reading through the reports by the time the team arrived.

It was captivating to see his eyes move from left to right along the pages within a matter of seconds before flipping onto the next page and repeating the same action. I’ve never seen anyone read that fast. I of course couldn't read that fast, though I wish I could.

“Early toxicology investigations of the victim’s blood indicated high levels of ketamine,” Spencer said, handing the paper report to Hotchner.

I started at his words.

_Ketamine?_

“Ketamine is primarily a horse tranquilizer. It’s also used as a date-rape drug. In street lingo, it’s known as being stuck in a k-hole,” Hotchner said.

I mentally nodded at his words.

I recall a couple of cases in D.C of drug dealers selling ketamine on the streets. And as DEA agents we learn street lingo dealers use for every street drug sold.

“Sanchez.”  
  
My head shot up at my name being called.

Hotchner was looking at me.

“Tell us what you know about the drug ketamine,” he said.

“Oh...okay,” I said, uncomfortable and anxious at suddenly being put on the spot. I knew Hotchner asked for my input due to my knowledge of drugs as an ex-DEA agent; I have come across a good number of dealers on the streets selling ketamine. I felt several eyes on me and before I could get more anxious and chicken out, I cleared my throat and spoke at the top of my voice.

“Um.... ketamine is classified as a schedule III drug under the DEA Controlled Substances Act; it commonly sells on the streets and is used recreationally in clubs and party scenes. If too much of the drug is taken, overdoses are a common occurrence. Taking the drug results in, uh, powerful hallucinogenic and out-of-body experiences, making it a dangerous date rape tool,” I said.

A female officer spoke up.

“So, his victims were completely conscious when he killed them? Imagine what she must have gone through,” she said.

Emily spoke to all the officers in the room.

“It’s essential for this unsub that he sees the terror in his victim’s eyes. That is what gets him off,” she said.

Hotchner spoke.

“He’s either had medical training, or he’s honed his skills over the years.”

“Look for a man in his mid-to late-fifties, highly intelligent, methodically and obsessively clean,” Gideon said.

“His vehicle is most likely an RV, muted in color, neither old nor new, in perfect working order,” Emily said.

“It will have a CB, radar detectors, and police-band radios. All these things have helped him detect you,” Derek said.

The officers in the room were intently listening, writing down everything the team was saying in their notepads. I was nodding along at my team’s words. They seemed like they had it down, so I didn’t speak up.

“And this vehicle is his killing room. It’ll be soundproofed. Surgical instruments are on the wall. There’s a stirrup chair or an autopsy table in it,” Hotchner said.

Gideon was next to speak. “All of his kills are recorded.... if not on video, in a journal that he carries with him in his right-hand inside jacket pocket.”

“How could you know that,” sheriff Silo said to Gideon.

“Tool marks on the remains indicate that he’s left-handed,” Emily answered the sheriff.

“This man is void of all normal human feelings. A killing machine, incapable of remorse, compassion, love,” Gideon said.

“We have roadblocks on every interstate, track or lane in or out of this town. We’ll shut down this state if we have to,” sheriff Silo said walking out to the front of the station with some of his officers following him.

“Stop every RV, truck, and trailer,” Hotchner said.

He left with sheriff Silo out the front exit.

Emily, Spencer, Derek, and I stood around, letting the officers mill around us.

I just realized I still don’t have a gun, so maybe I won’t be able to go out in the field yet.

_Dammit, if only I took my handgun test earlier this week._

Gideon looked over at us from his conversation with the female officer.

“Sanchez, Reid,” he said and gestured for us to come with him.

Him and the female sheriff led us to the holding cells.

“Sheriff Davis thinks there might be someone who knows who our unsub is,” Gideon said.

We passed by a couple of people in the waiting area, up until we stopped at one holding cell.

“How you feeling, Jane?”

I looked ahead to see the blonde from earlier today, the one who wanted to stay in jail. Jane.

Sheriff Davis opened the cell and Gideon, Spencer, and I stepped into it.

“I don’t want to go home, George. Please don’t make me go home,” Jane said.

“Jane.... these people are from the FBI,” sheriff Davis said, gesturing to us. Jane looked over at me and Spencer. I gave her a small smile. “I’d like you to tell them your story.”

“Why, so they can make fun of me, too?”

Jane looked back down at her hands, where she held the whistle I saw earlier today.

I looked back to Gideon, who gave me a gesturing look between me and Jane.

I took in a breath and walked to Jane.

“It’s very pretty,” I said about the whistle Jane was holding in her hand. “Did you make it?” I sat down next her.

Jane held it up by a string. “It was a gift,” she said.

“Oh,” I said.

She handed it to me, I reluctantly took it, and examined it up close. It was shaped like a bow, oddly light, maybe made from some type of wood. I observed it for a couple more seconds, then looked at Jane.

I hesitated speaking, wanting to sound sympathetic to gain her trust.

“What happened to you? I want to know,” I asked her genuinely.

Jane took the whistle out of my hand. And it took a couple of moments for her to speak again.

“My car broke down,” she began. “The engine went out on me and....you know, in those days, they didn’t have cell phones, so I tried to fix it myself. Then I felt a presence. And then everything went white. I was in a spaceship. And I could see myself. It was like time was suspended,” she said, her eyes on the ceiling. “And I could _feel_ everything, and there were strange maps on the walls.... diagrams of all the stars. I was cold. It was very, very cold. And the alien, he did things to me.”

I tried keeping my face as neutral as possible. _She believes she was abducted by aliens._

Jane was standing up now. She looked at me sincerely. 

“He touched me.... very softly, and he stroked my hair, and he drew lines all over my body, and the whole time, he was standing there smiling down on me. And then I looked into his eyes....and I wasn’t afraid anymore. I don’t know why.”

“Then what did he do?” Gideon asked, when I was too nervous to ask her myself.

“And then I....was back in my own bed, and it was the next morning,” Jane said.

“How long ago did this happen?” I said, gaining the courage to speak again.

“I was 19,” she gave a soft giggle. “It was 30 years ago.”

30 years ago. When the first murders began. We learned about what trauma could do to a person in my psychology class. A memory appeared in my mind.

“Those that have been through a traumatic experience may end up dealing with delusions as a result. Trauma triggers a high stress response and alters the way we think and our neurotransmissions. There are 4 general types of delusions, the first one: bizarre delusions- these types of delusions are considered extremely odd, highly implausible, and inappropriate based on the person’s culture and life experiences,” my psychology professor Mr. Imbody taught us.

Jane’s mind was compensating her trauma with a bizarre delusion.

“And did you ever see him again?” I questioned.

“Oh, I see him,” Jane said in a soft voice. “I see him every time I shut my eyes,” she said.

And that was it.

Jane sat back down on the bench and began playing with her whistle again, and the conversation seemed to be over.

Sheriff Davis walked us out the holding cell.

“The strange maps on the walls could’ve been anatomical drawings,” Spencer said.

I nodded. That was most likely the case.

“What about the fact that she could see herself,” sheriff Davis asked.

“A mirrored ceiling,” I said. It made the most sense with our unsub’s tactics and motivations.

“So his victims could see themselves being dismembered,” Gideon said.

_A psychopathic sexual sadist._

“Every time I think it can’t get any worse, it does,” sheriff Davis said.

“Her subconscious mind has created a delusion that she was abducted by an alien,” Gideon told sheriff Davis.

“It’s possible she’s the only one who’s survived,” Spencer posited.

“Why did he let her go?” sheriff Davis asked.

“She said when she looked into his eyes, she felt relaxed,” I said.

“And in that moment the one thing that he wanted.... she didn’t give to him,” Gideon cut in.

“Fear,” I continued.

Sheriff Davis drove Gideon, Spencer, and I out to a place where RV’s commonly parked at. There were hundreds of them, almost identical. Sheriff Davis received a call that a young woman was just reported missing a few minutes ago. It was safe to assume this was our guy. When we made it to our destination, the rest of the team was waiting with the rest of the officers from the station.

“We set up a nationwide tip line, but all we’ve really got so far is white male, mid-to late-fifties, tall, with a medium build,” Hotchner said as Spencer and I walked up to the group. It was a sunny day, but it wasn’t hot. The wind was tossing my hair around in my face, so I had to swat at my hair every so often.

“From the remains discovered this morning, we know he doesn’t keep his victims long,” Gideon said.

“We got more cops coming by the hour to help find this guy. We also put out a nationwide a.p.b,” sheriff Davis said.

“If he is still in this town, and we believe he is, he has absolutely no way out,” Derek said.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go catch this s.o.b,” sheriff Silo said.

The team split up to go question owners of the RV’s. Spencer and I were the ones left together, so we stuck together and went ahead to talk to the RV owners on the left side.

We first talked to a brunette, who didn’t seem too concerned with what we were talking about. We split up after to quicken our search. I spoke to a dark-haired woman, who was very nice and cooperative but didn’t know anything about the man we were looking for. Spencer was talking to a man who was grilling patties outside his RV.

“Did he know anything?” I asked Spencer.

He gave me a shake of his head.

“He didn’t know anything.”

 _Damn_.

“How has he been getting away with murdering people for thirty years,” I wondered out loud.

“To get away with murder, you simply don’t tell anyone,” Spencer said to me as we were walking out of the midst of where the RV’s were parked.

“Only the people he killed knew what he was,” I said.

“And he took from them what he needed: cash, credit cards,” Spencer said. “I’m going to call Garcia and see if anything Katherine Hale owned was used after her death.”

We continued walking out of the park. I noticed Spencer looking past to the right of me looking at something.

I turned to see what it was he was looking at. An older woman knitting, which I’m sure was not what caught Spencer’s attention, and a trailer.

“Maybe he’s not using an RV. Maybe he’s towing a trailer,” Spencer said looking at me with realization in his eyes.

“That way he could unhook and move about freely,” I said.

“He could also hide it. That’s why we can’t find him.”

“He’s waiting for the roadblocks to clear.” I thought back to what Emily said about his profile earlier this morning. “Ok, if he has a truck, it’s gonna be just like his trailer.... muted in color and American-made.”

“It’s gonna be dark soon.” Spencer said looking up at the darkening sky. I could tell it was going to be a pretty sunset.

“We should go back and call Gideon. I think the unsub’s in town somewhere,” Spencer said.

“Yeah,” I breathed out and we rushed over to where we were dropped off by sheriff Davis.

Spencer took out his phone and called Gideon.

“Gideon wants us to search everywhere a trailer can be hidden in garages, warehouses....” Spencer said, after his call ended.

I slowed down my pace.

“Does he want us to work all night?”

“Seems like it.”  
  
“Gideon seems really passionate about this case,” I said, remembering him describing the unsub as “the most prolific serial killer ever,” with a far-off look in his eyes.

“Our unsub dismembered and killed numerous amounts of people while they were conscious over the past 30 years, I understand why he wants to catch this guy so badly,” Spencer said.

I winced at the plainness in his voice.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I didn’t mean to sound insensitive. I know why he’d wanna put pressure on this case,” I said, regret in my voice.

“I-I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’m just telling you that Gideon is sometimes like this with cases. He doesn’t like seeing unsubs get away with what they do for so long.”

“I understand. These people are sick,” I said, thankful he wasn’t upset about what I said.

We made it a few more paces out of the RV park before a ringing sound came from Spencer’s phone. He answered it.

“Okay,” he said as he hung up.

“That was Hotch, he wants us to go to the hotel and rest for the night. We’ll pick up tomorrow at 8.”

“Gideon changed his mind?” I asked.

“Hotch makes the official calls. He wants us to be in top shape, and we need our rest to do this the right way,” Spencer said.

We drove back with a deputy to the hotel the BAU reserved for the team. My hotel room was a plain, small regular hotel room. Penelope and JJ were staying at the BAU, continuing with their map they have of all the bodies the unsub dumped.

I was feeling the effects of flying to Nevada somewhat _soonish_ after the case in Chicago. My body was achy, so I decided to take a nice, long, relaxing warm shower. 30 minutes later, with my hair dripping wet, and a white towel wrapped around my body I stepped out of the hot, steamy bathroom. I set my go-bag on my bed and searched through it. Pulling out my comfortable clothes for sleeping, I laid them across the bed. I also inspected inside to look for the book I’d brought along to read on the jet, or during any free time I had, like right now. As I began to peel the soaked towel off across my torso, a knock sounded on my hotel door.

I readjusted my towel went over to the door and looked through the small peephole and saw Emily standing there.

I unlatched the chain latch and opened the door.

“Hey,” I said and opened the door for her to come in and shut it closed behind her.

“Hey, yourself. I wanted to, uh, check in on you. You did a lot of flying this week. I know the first couple of months are especially stressful in the BAU,” she said.

“I’m not that stressed out,” I lied.

Emily gave me a knowing look.

“Mari, I know what it’s like to be the newbie on the team. I came to the bureau a little under six months ago. It can be a lot- the first couple of cases,” she said.

“Damn profiling skills,” I teased.

She smirked.

“I overheard you saying you don’t like coffee, but you drank it on the jet. So, I assumed you were tired from all the sudden traveling,” she said.

I sighed.

“I’m a terrible sleeper, always have been. It doesn’t help that I stay up past midnight reading.”

“You’ll get used to it. I promise,” Emily said to me.

“I sure hope so."

I leveled my eyes with hers.

"Thank you for checking up on me,” I said, grateful she took the time to talk to me before she went to bed.

"Anytime." She patted my arm.

Emily left not too long after, and I was alone in my hotel room soaking wet with a book with my name on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like one of my favorite episodes from season 2. One, because of Frank. I loved the portrayal of his character. He was such an interesting killer. Secondly, JANE. Idk why but I found her character to be so hilarious to watch, especially the police station scene, I re-watch that scene over and over again whenever I watch this episode and I die laughing. Idk anything about drugs and I had to google stuff about ketamine so sorry if it’s incorrect.
> 
> Fun-ish fact, maybe?: When I began to come up with this fic I had this episode specifically in mind. I just saw this episode so perfectly with Mari apart of the team, so this chapter was super fun for me to write. Again, a couple things were changed from the original storyline, but not too much? Idk? You tell me. I got all the FBI gun certification information on this website [here](https://www.activeresponsetraining.net/shooting-drill-fbi-qualification-test)


	7. Anxiety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! It's somehow longer than the last chapter.
> 
> Trigger Warning: Anxiety Attacks.

It was probably around four in the morning when a series of banging sounded at my hotel door. I woke up immediately at the sudden deafening noise. Last, I remember I was reading the book, _The Final Empire_ by Brandon Sanderson, lost in the world of the Mistborn realm.

I must’ve fallen asleep in the middle of reading, not surprising, I tend to do that a lot. Grabbing my glasses off the nightstand, I padded my way to the door and looked through the peep hole to see Derek was standing there, his big fist raised ready to knock loudly on the door again. I hastily removed the chain and opened the door so he wouldn’t do it again.

I squinted up at him through tired eyes. He didn’t look as tired as I was feeling.

_Lucky._

I waited for him to speak first.

“You need to change,” he said gesturing to my sleeping clothes.

“Why?” I asked. 

My voice sounded like sandpaper.

“The station received a call from the unsub. Sheriff Davis is missing,” Derek said.

“He took her?” I said in disbelief.

_Why would he take the sheriff?_

“We believe so. Hurry, we’re leaving in five minutes.”

I was ready in two.

Heading down to the lobby Emily, Hotchner, Gideon, Derek, and Spencer were already in the cars, and once I got into one of the SUV’s we rushed to the sheriff’s house, the police sirens turned on. It was a small, humble kind of house. The team and I exited from the black SUV’s. Sheriff Silo was with us. He looked very worried for the well-being of his friend. Hotchner stopped me from entering the house.

“You don’t have your gun yet, right?”

I winced internally.

“No, I was going to- actually today, but-”

Hotchner was reaching down to his ankle. He pulled out a gun from his ankle holster. A 9mm Glock. He handed it to me.

“You need a gun from now on whenever you’re in the field.”

“Yes, sir-uh Hotchner, but this is your gun,” I said.

_As if he didn't already know that, dumbass._

“Don’t worry about it. You need a gun now,” he said and began to walk into the house.

The feeling of Hotchner’s gun in my hands at first felt a little weird. Clunky. But the weight of it was familiar to me.

I adjusted the gun in my hands to have it leveled properly in front of me and clicked off the safety, heading into the house. The inside was also a bit plain, while being homey.

The living room was clean, undisturbed. The kitchen was a different story. Obviously, everything went down in this room. The first thing I noticed was the pitcher lain across the floor, red juice spilt against the floor, from afar it could be mistaken for blood.

There on the ground, was the sheriff’s gun, thrown across the floor. I noticed the others had their guns put away, there was nobody here, so I lowered my gun, holding it in one hand and clicked on the safety. I didn’t have a gun holster yet, because I didn’t even technically have a registered gun, so I just had to hold onto it for now.

Sheriff Silo was distraught.

“He took George!” he bellowed, storming away from the kitchen into the living room.

“All right, we need to work fast,” Hotchner said to us.

“All right, she enters the house, and then it’s habitual,” Derek said.

“Ok, she drops her keys, hits the answering machine, takes off her gun belt,” Emily said.

“Then moves through the kitchen,” Derek finishes for her.

“He’s never taken anyone of prominence. Why take the sheriff?” Gideon said.

“And not her gun,” Hotchner said, looking at the discarded gun laying on the carpeted floor.

“Silo, call your office. See if she was planning to meet anyone,” Hotchner said.

“No way a cop would take chase without their gun,” Derek said. He said with a knowing tone, probably because he was CPD before. “Definitely looks like she tried to make a go for it.”

I noticed Spencer for the first time since entering the house. He was looking around the room we were in. He saw something on the floor and bent down. He took out a glove and picked something up.

“But she didn’t make it,” Spencer said. In his covered hand, there was the unmistakable shape of a syringe.

I sucked in a breath. He drugged her to abduct her.

“Guys, George brought crazy Jane home with her,” Silo said.

“Why?” I asked.

“She didn’t want her to stay a night in jail. George is nice like that,” he said.

“So, he takes control of George, then goes after what he came for,” Derek said.

“Crazy Jane,” Emily said.

“Those footprints,” Derek said, pointing to the footprints visible from the spilled juice. “They got to be Jane’s. They go to the back. She escapes. The unsub knows the ketamine’s gonna wear off, so he’s got to act.”

“No. He hasn’t got what he came here for,” Gideon said.

“So for leverage, he takes the sheriff, which means sooner or later, he’ll contact us,” Hotchner said.

I took in a breath, still holding Hotchner’s Glock in my right hand.

_Why does our unsub want Jane for?_

The team began searching through the kitchen and living room. I was drawn towards the cabinet made of glass. Inside held pictures of the sheriff and of, I’m sure was her family. There was a picture of her and who, I guess was her husband. Another frame of a child. More pictures of young kids, I’m sure were her own.

I felt Emily observing me.

“That’s gotta be tiring on the hand,” she said, pointing to the Glock in my hand.

“It is,” I admitted. “I don’t have a gun holster- it was supposed to come with my gun, but...” I trailed off, since she already knew why I didn’t have a registered gun yet.

“I’m sure one of the officers have a spare gun holster. I’ll ask around,” she said.

I smiled at her. I knew from our conversation earlier in my hotel room, she was trying to ease the pressure I had as the “newbie”.

“Thanks, Emily,” I said genuinely.

Hotchner was speaking to someone on the phone suddenly and said, “ Katherine Hale’s cell phone just came back on in the middle of town.”

“Let’s do this,” sheriff Silo said, going outside.

“He thinks we have Jane,” Gideon said.

“Which means he wants a trade,” Derek said.

“Whatever he wants, we need to find Jane and the sheriff fast. You go to town,” Hotchner said to Derek. “We’ll go to Jane’s.”

Jane’s house was an old, yellow colored house. It was a lone one with no neighbors in closeness. Perfect isolation. The cars we arrived in raced down the roads to Jane’s house. When our squad of cars parked in front of Jane’s house, I got out with Emily, Spencer, and Hotchner.

They, along with the other officers that were here, held out their weapons and approached the house slowly.

“Sanchez,” Hotchner said to me. “Stick with us.”

I took out and leveled my gun in front of me. Hotchner led the group, with Emily behind him, Spencer behind her, and me behind him. It was hard for me to see Hotchner and Emily up front with Spencer’s height being in the way. He had to be at least six feet tall.

Hotchner sped up the steps to the house and pressed his back to the wall adjacent to the door.

Emily did the same on the other side of the door. Spencer ran up to Emily’s right and I copied the same move on her left. Staring out in front of me, the line of officers covered the perimeter of the house.

It was quiet, with the exception of the wind.

There was a gust blowing my curls into my eyes, and I swat them away.

That was when I heard it.

The rattling of wind chimes.

There they were all lined up on the front of the porch. They weren’t pretty, not like how other wind chimes usually looked like.

Colorful, bright glass, and whimsical.

These were anything but. They were dull in color and looked like they were made out of wood...... in the shape of a curved bow.

Jesus Christ.

“E-Emily,” I breathed out in shock.

She looked back at me.

“Mari, what’s wrong?” she said, worry in her voice.

My eyes stayed on the chimes in front of me.

“I think these wind chimes are made from the missing rib bones,” I said.

_Right rib bone is missing._

Hotchner, Spencer and Emily looked at the wind chimes I was staring at. Spencer and Emily looked on with horror and disgust. Hotchner however held the same expressionless look he always had.

“Sanchez, stay with Prentiss,” he said.

He reached for the handle of the door and looked over at all of us letting us know he was ready to go in. Then he turned the knob and pushed the door inward. He went into the house, gun raised; then Spencer went in, then Emily, then finally me.

Hotchner went straight, Spencer walked over to the right, Emily treaded over to the left side of the house and I followed right behind her.

It was quiet. So quiet, it felt as though my heartbeat was the loudest sound in the house.

Emily led the way through the left side of the house. Hotchner and Spencer were now heading up the stairs to the second floor. There were two rooms, both parallel to each other we were heading up to. Emily lined up adjacent to one door and gestured for me to do the same with the other door.

I lined up against the wall next to the door opposite Emily and laid my fingers on the door knob.

Emily held up three fingers, counting down to one.

Three, two, one- and on one I twisted the knob and entered in the room.

I quickly swung my gun in front of me and surveyed the room. It was small, a couple of boxes were in the corner of the room, other than that, there was nothing at all. Just a small four corner room. I brought my gun down to my side

“Clear!” Emily said from her room.

“Clear,” I said back to her.

Emily was coming out of her room.

I heard Hotchner and Spencer yell _clear_ from upstairs. They came down the stairs shortly after.

“Completely empty. She’s not here. Go bag the chimes for evidence,” Hotchner said.

Emily, Spencer and I went outside on the porch. Emily called over the officers for evidence bags and gloves.

We began to bag up the chimes in evidence bags.

Despite myself, I started to feel a little unsettled.

“I touched it,” I muttered under my breath.

Emily turned to me with a questioning look on her face.

“You touched what?”

“Jane’s ‘whistle’.”

_Oh god, she had it in her mouth....._

“I held it,” I said to Emily.

She gave me a sympathetic look.

I looked back over at the chimes I was bagging. These were painted blue.

_Human ribs...... Okay, now I was feeling the queasiness I felt I was missing yesterday morning._

“Well, he’s obviously been here before and left these gifts for her,” Spencer said, taking down a chime.

“How romantic,” Emily said dryly.

“His version of romance,” Hotchner said now coming up behind us.

“What...are you trying to say you think he keeps coming back here because he’s in love with her?” Emily asked Hotchner.

“Isn’t that impossible? This guy is a sexual sadist, they can’t feel love,” I said.

“Well, define love,” Hotchner said to no one in particular.

I snorted. “Don’t ask me. I have no clue.”

“I’m not the right person to ask,” Emily said at the same time.

Spencer spoke up.

“Chemically, it involves surging brain elements called monoamines, dopamines, norepinephrine, and serotonin. Love chemicals controlled by phenethylamine, also found in....”

“Chocolate,” Emily interjected. “I love chocolate.”

I mentally nodded at that. _Chocolate is so fucking delicious. Who didn’t like chocolate?_

“Peas, too!” Spencer abruptly exclaimed. He sounded so excited. “It’s also found in peas!”

“Peas?” I questioned.

I never heard of peas also being aphrodisiacs. I mean, let’s be honest peas were not on the same level as chocolate as far as taste goes.

“Indeed, some veritable...”

“Reid, stop, please,” Hotchner interrupted Spencer.

“Spread out, everybody. Keep looking!” Hotchner said loudly to all of us, including the officers.

I felt a little bad seeing Spencer’s words cut short in the middle of speaking. I mean we were in the middle of working, so I guess this conversation was meant for another time. _But still....._

I spoke to him in a hushed tone when Hotchner moved away from us.

“You can tell me later,” I told him.

He seemed a little confused at first but after a couple seconds he gave me a small smile and a nod.

I went back to bagging the wind chimes.

I suddenly felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Mari. Reid.”

I turned around. Hotchner was rushing off the porch heading to a small barn behind the house. Emily and Spencer went after him. I took my gun out of my gun holster, which Emily asked one of the officers for, and ran to the barn after them.

Hotchner barged into the doors of the barn.

“FBI!”

We went in guns aimed. I’d only been in a couple of barns before, but this barn seemed to be like any other regular barn. There was hay around the area and several farming tools which I didn’t know the names of. On every other wooden beam, there were the wind chimes made of ribs. I ignored the musty air and kept following the group.

Spencer was heading to the back of the barn. There was a large tarp covering the exit. Spencer pulled it aside and bright light from the outside shone into the dimly-lit barn.

He fully ripped it off and I pressed on forward next to Emily. There was a trailer up ahead.

I lowered my body down at the same time Spencer and Hotchner ducked down, to stay out of sight of the windows of the trailer.

Spencer went up and grabbed the door of the trailer and waited a second before pulling it open. Hotchner went in, then Spencer, then Emily and me.

“Clear,” Hotchner breathed.

The first thing I detected was the smell.

It was a pungent high-key smell I was familiar with.

Blood.

Lots of it.

Looking inside the trailer, it was all stainless steel like the outside.

On the walls, there were anatomical posters and all kinds of medical tools. Surgical knives, drills, clamps... hundreds of them lining the steel walls.

I gulped a bit at the sight.

That wasn’t all.

In the middle of the trailer, there was an autopsy table splattered with blood. I felt myself pale at the amount of blood there was.

_Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up._

_I can handle it._

I let out a shaky breath.

The person whose blood was on the table definitely couldn’t have survived that much blood loss.

“I thought I’d seen everything,” Hotchner said.

I looked at his face. Hotchner, the man who seemed to always have a blank expression, looked just the slightest bit disturbed. Spencer looked completely and utterly horrified and shock at what we were seeing.

Emily wasn’t as bothered, I noted. Maybe she was used to scenes like this with whatever she did before joining the BAU. I tried to keep a blank expression like Emily.

I didn’t want Hotchner to think I couldn’t do this job.

“Guys,” Hotchner said.

“What is it?” Spencer asked.

“It’s a coffin.”

On the floor was a metal box, proportions made for a body.

Hotchner reached down and opened the latch swinging the coffin open.

Blonde.

The first thing I saw was blonde hair. The next thing I saw were...... her eyes. I couldn’t tell what color what they were. Her pupils were so dilated. There was a line of dried blood flowing out of one side of her mouth into a pool of blood settled around her neck. I had looked away after just a moment. It was a hard sight.

“Hotch, there’s another coffin over here,” Emily said.

He moved over to the second coffin on my side, Spencer approaching behind him. Hotchner reached a hand down to the handle of the coffin. I aimed my gun at the coffin, bracing myself for another body with blank open eyes.

I sucked in my bottom lip.

Hotchner swung open the coffin, his gun pointed inside.

“It’s okay. Don’t try to speak. We’ve got you.”

I stepped up to peek into the coffin.

Sheriff Davis was in there. She looked around at us, eyes disoriented. She definitely has trace amounts of ketamine in her system still.

Hotchner hooked an arm around her waist and began to pull her out. I put my gun into my gun holster and went to grab the sheriff’s other arm.

“Prentiss call for medical,” Hotchner said.

“No.....” the sheriff slurred. “I.....I’m...fine.”

“George,” I rasped.

I cleared my throat. It was too dry.

“Please listen to me. That man kept you dosed with ketamine for the past several hours. You are going to feel dizzy, and tired. Your body will want to sleep off the drug. You are going to have a hard time even with walking. We _need_ to take you to the hospital to get your vitals checked. Do you understand?”

Sheriff Davis gave her best attempt at a nod.

“Okay, your husband will be at the hospital with you. Don’t worry,” I told her.

Hotchner and I lifted her up. I laid her arm across my shoulder as Hotchner did the same on his side. We lifted her out of the musty trailer.

Hotchner stayed by her side holding her, as she began to doze in and out.

I was sitting on the steps at Jane’s house waiting for the ambulance to take sheriff George. It wouldn’t be long now. I told Hotchner I just needed a couple minutes to myself. To be honest, I was trying to stop my stomach from churning and my hands from shaking.

Blonde hair. Blank eyes. Dilated. So dilated the color of her eyes weren’t apparent.

Her eyes.

Open.

I wonder, did he keep them open, or did she die with them open? Looking up at her murderer as the last thing she saw.

“Hey.”

I startled.

Emily was in front of me.

“Hey, it’s just me. Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” she said looking at me like I was a delicate flower.

I noticed my heart was racing.

“Hey. Are the ambulances here?” I asked her.

“No, I wanted to tell you I called George’s husband. An officer will drive him to the hospital to be with George,” Emily said.

“Oh, that’s-that’s good,” I said distractedly.

Emily sat down next to me.

She was looking at me.

I knew that look she had in her eyes.

“She was so young,” I blurted out.

Emily was now fully giving me a sympathetic look. “Mari.”

“Hell, she looked younger than me,” I strained.

I continued.

“I don’t know why I’m acting like this. I’ve seen dead bodies before at the DEA. I mean it wasn’t easy to look at, sure, but I should be used to it by now. But at any moment, I feel like I might throw up,” I admit to Emily.

She reached a hand out to calmly stroke my back.

“Everyone deals with trauma in their own way,” she said.

“I can’t keep doing this though. I have to prove myself. To Hotchner. Or else I might go back to the DEA. Or worse I’ll be jobless-“

“Mari, slow down,” Emily said.

I stopped.

“This is your first BAU crime scene. There was a body. Even if you think you should be used to seeing dead bodies by now, you really shouldn’t. It’s different for everyone.”

“You looked fine when we were in the trailer,” I said. _She didn’t even flinch._

“ _It’s different for everyone_ ,” Emily stressed. “I just compartmentalize better than most people. You may never get used to seeing bodies or you may. But that’s not what you’re worried about. You’re worried about disappointing Hotch.”

“Well.... yeah. He’s my boss. If I don’t prove I’m useful on this team, then he’ll have no reason to keep me here,” I said.

Especially since he still had to speak to section chief Strauss about my peculiar transfer.

“You have a reason to be here. You helped us out on the Chicago case, remember?” she asked me.

I guess so.

“Right?” Emily asked.

I nodded.

“Do you know what I did before coming to the BAU?”

“No.”

“I worked at the FBI field offices out in the Midwest,” she said.

“Why’d you come to the BAU?” I asked.

“Because I wanted to do something with my life. Profiling killers. Although it is hard seeing innocent people’s bodies used by the worst kind of people, the reward is much sweeter. Seeing those sons’ of bitches behind bars.”

“Or even better,” she started. “Seeing them dead.”

“I want that too, Em. I want to catch our unsub and make him pay for all the people he’s killed. That’s why I transferred here. It-it just was hard seeing her like that.”

“I know,” Emily whispered.

Then, after a second of hesitation she brought me into a hug.

We sat there in a tight hug, on Jane’s porch with police officers milling around us, the faraway sirens of ambulances imminent.

“Emily?”

I looked up from Emily’s shoulder where I was resting my head against.

Spencer was standing in front of us, hands in his front pant pockets.

He gestured behind him. “The ambulance is here. We need to head to town. It’s urgent.”

Emily and I released each other.

She gave me one final look of reassurance before getting up.

I ran up with Emily and Spencer, to see Hotchner a second before hanging up his phone.

He turned to us with a pressing look on his face.

“Our unsub took a school bus full of kids a few minutes ago, they found it abandoned just outside of town. The woman we found was sheriff Davis’ son’s teacher. He also killed the bus driver.”

Hotchner started moving quickly to the SUV we came here in. He got into the driver’s seat. Emily went in the passenger’s seat and Spencer and I sat in the back. He sent me a fleeting look. Hopefully, he didn’t notice my paler features and shaken up look.

I didn’t want him to worry about me when we had bigger problems ahead of us.

“How? We shut down the whole town. There was no way out.” Emily said.

“What was the one vehicle we weren’t looking for?” Hotchner said.

“A school bus,” Spencer and I said at the same time.

“More importantly, where are the children?” Hotchner said.

“We need to go to the diner they’re at now. It’s going to become night,” Hotchner said pulling the car into the roads.

“The Nevada desert is approximately 25,000 square miles,” Spencer spoke up. “There has been a rise in coyote population due to a lack of natural predators, such as mountain lions, timber wolves, and Ted Nugent’s-which are-“

“Reid,” Hotchner interrupted.

“Sorry,” Spencer said.

Again, I felt bad for Spencer having his words cut off yet again. Lord, I hate it when people constantly cut me off- on purpose especially. I’d be annoyed as hell. But Spencer didn’t seem annoyed like most people would be. It seemed like he was used to getting his words interrupted and actually looked a little apologetic for his rambling. Like he knew he did something he wasn’t allowed to do.

Our car was rushing to the diner, swerving past cars, in and out of lanes. Hotchner had turned on the police sirens to cut through traffic.

There was an all-encompassing silence that now filled the car.

My knee bounced in anticipation. I started to feel a bit nervous of what was going to happen. Would we find the bodies of several six-year-olds? I don’t think I’d be able to handle it. Finding the blonde-hair woman inside the trailer was already hard, but to see dead children?

There was a sudden tightness in my throat, and I felt my heart begin to race.

I was going to give myself an anxiety attack if I don’t stop thinking about this. I tried to think about something else instead to distract myself. My palms were beginning to sweat.

A moment of recollection popped into my head.

I turned my head to the right at Spencer.

“Tell me about the peas,” I breathed out and felt my face flush at how weird that sounded. That came out so wrong, but I didn’t want to talk too much with how dry my throat felt.

Spencer looked bewildered, to see the least, for the first couple of seconds, but thankfully he understood what I was trying to say.

His entire manner suddenly animated.

“Peas, specifically sweet peas, contain the same natural carnal stimulant as chocolate! There are, in fact, different stages of love that release varied groups of chemicals. You see, in stage one: there’s lust...”

Spencer talked about peas and all the different forms of chemicals a person in love experiences the entire car ride to the diner. He seemed truly delighted that someone wanted to hear him talk about serotonin, dopamines, and norepine.....phrine? I think.....? How does he say those long-ass words so swiftly throughout his rambling? Well, he does have an eidetic memory.

Hearing Spencer talk during the drive lessened the early stages of my anxiety attack. I just listened to him speak as I remembered to breath in through my nose, and out my mouth and my anxiety went away after a minute of Spencer talking.

When we made it to the diner, I felt much better. Less nauseous. It also helped getting out of the car and walk around in the fresh air. Unfortunately, I also get carsick easily. As we walked towards the diner, a police car drove up in front of us.

“Sir, I found her walking the streets,” a police officer said to Hotchner.

There in the back seat, was Jane.

“Jane, he’s been coming back to this town for years to see you,” Hotchner said to Jane.

“All those years, why?” Jane said.

“He says he’s in love with you.”

“He’s in love with me? Why??”

“That’s what he says,” Hotchner said.

“He hides out in your old barn, and he watches you, and when he leaves, he leaves these wind chimes as gifts,” Emily said.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Jane said. I saw she was holding the chime in her hands.

“They’re not beautiful,” Emily said, taking the words out of my mouth.

“They are the remains of people he took, tortured, and killed. He is not an alien. You were abducted by a serial killer,” Emily stressed.

“But he did come for me, didn’t he? Not George! He came for me, didn’t he!? George told me to run, but I didn’t want to run. I wanted to see him again, to see his eyes and see his face.”

“And I don’t know.....” George said. She had a look of bliss, like she was in a trance, on her face.

“Somehow it just felt like I was coming home.”

Emily looked over at me with the same look of incredulous I had in my eyes.

“Jane.”

We all turned to the root of that voice.

Derek was holding a man in his arms.

The man was tall, lean, graying hair, wrinkles marring his skin. This was him. The person that removed people’s rib bones and sent them as gifts to Jane as a way to show love.

How did people like him do this?

Before I could blink, Jane rushed up to the unsub. Me and Emily went after her, grabbing her arms to hold her back.

“He has the children, Jane,” Emily reminded her.

“We’ll find them,” Derek said.

“And if we don’t they’ll die of exposure,” sheriff Silo bellowed. “Hand him over.”

“Tell them, Jason. Tell them I’m not interested in harming children,” the unsub said. “You’ve studied me for years. Have I ever once harmed a child?” he looked back at Gideon.

“It does nothing for me. Give me Jane.....and they’ll have their children back.”

“Is she part of this with you?” sheriff Silo said.

“She’s not a part of anything. She’s as much as his victim as you are.” I expressed to the sheriff.

“With Jane in my life, I will never harm another human being,” the unsub said.

Jane surged forward.

Emily and I grabbed her arms again, pulling her back.

“Leave her alone,” he growled out at us.

Sheriff Silo went up to the unsub, but before he could reach him, Derek grabbed him and said, “Hey, don’t even think about it.”

“No matter what you do to him, he will never give you what you want,” Gideon said to Silo. He turned to look at the unsub.

“Take me with you, Frank. Just you and me.”

“And my Jane?” Frank, I now knew his name was, said.

“You’ll take me to where the kids are?”

“Happily. I couldn’t have that on my conscious,” Frank said deadpan.

That son of a bitch.

I felt my lips purse in silent rage.

Blonde hair, blank eyes.

Frank spoke aloud once more.

“I will take a vehicle of my choice. Jason will drive. Once I’m satisfied no one is following, I will take Jason to where I have the children. He will then call. If anyone follows, the story will end in tears.”

After the deal was made Gideon waited in the car Frank chose. When Frank came to take Jane from Emily and me, I instinctively drew back from his nearness.

He observed me then, a dead look in his eyes that confirmed my thoughts.

He knew what he was, he wasn’t a changed man.

He couldn’t love anyone; despite what he says he feels for Jane.

Gideon drove Frank, and Jane away.

I looked at Hotchner.

“Gideon took out his earpiece, he won’t be able to hear us,” I said to him.

“We knew that going in.”

“Gideon will get those kids back. All we have to do is wait,” he said staring at the road Gideon’s car went down less than a minute ago.

I could only hope.

I started pacing.

I know Frank wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t care much for children. They weren’t his type. But the cynical part of me couldn’t get behind the idea that this plan will work out how we want it to.

If there were predators out there, they could find the kids and....

If it took a long time for Gideon to find the kids, would they die from hypothermia? The desert gets cold when the sun goes down.

Could it be that Frank paid a child trafficker to take those kids and sell them on the black market. So, they would already be long gone, and this was just another one of Frank’s big ‘fuck you’ to the police; and to Gideon.

Okay, maybe that was a stretch of a theory....

I stopped pacing after feeling a little dizzy.

I noticed Spencer next to me out of the corner of my eye.

“Did you know that lust is an altered state of consciousness programmed by the primal urge to procreate. Studies suggest that the brain in this phase is much like a brain on drugs.”

My legs were shaky.

“MRI scans show that the same area lights up when an addict gets a fix just as when a person is feeling the strong desire of physical attraction.”

“What?” I said, slightly confused why he was telling me this.

“I thought you’d want to hear more about the chemical differences between love and lust. I didn’t get to explain that earlier in the car,” he said.

“Oh, thank you,” I said.

“I-I figured since it helped with your anxiety attack in the car, it might help again,” Spencer said.

“Hm?” I said full attention on Spencer now. “You knew I was gonna have an anxiety attack in the car?”

“Your breathing pattern was erratic- and your hands were uh, shaking non-stop. Key symptoms that mark the beginning of an anxiety attack. Especially after a stressful event you witnessed.”

“Ah,” I said, a little embarrassed he saw me practically lose it after seeing inside the trailer.

“So is your anxiety subsiding now?”

I paused.

“Yes, I think so,” I said.

There was still a slight feeling of panic in my chest.

“Can you tell me something else- if you don’t mind, that is,” I said.

Spencer jumped straight into his monologue.

“Your brain contains about 100 billion miniscule cells called neurons—so many it would take you over 3,000 years to count them all. Whenever you dream, or laugh, or think, or move, it’s because there are tiny chemical and electrical signals racing between these neurons in billions of, what essentially are tiny neuron highways. Believe it or not, the activity in your brain never rests. Your neurons create and send more messages than all the phones in the entire world. And all your neurons together can generate enough electricity to power a lightbulb,” he said.

“I didn’t know that-that’s actually very interesting,” I said softly, my anxiety fully ebbed away.

Spencer nodded, smiling.

“Do you get anxiety attacks often?”

“Every now and then,” was all I said.

“Ways that can prevent anxiety attacks is: consistent exercise- actually, aerobic exercise helps to release tension, improves your mood and boosts confidence. Eating regular meals to stabilize your blood sugar levels also lowers your likelihood of anxiety attacks.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you,” I told him.

The sun was starting to go down. The sunset was beautiful like I thought it’d be. A vibrant orange shade mixed with some yellow hues.

Emily came over to us.

She was holding out her hand, her phone in it, to me.

“Garcia wants to talk to you,” Emily said.

I took her phone from her hand and pressed it up to my ear.

“Penelope?”

“Doll face, do you even check your cellular device? I called you at least four times today.”

I let out a breathy laugh.

“Sorry, but this case has been kinda stressful. I turned my phone off so I can put all my focus on this case,” I told her.

“I get it- I get it, it’s been pretty stressful over here in my woman cave as well, that’s why I wanted to call you. See how you’re doing over there.” She took in a breath. “I heard about Gideon.”

“Yeah.... he’s only been gone 10 minutes. No call from him yet,” I said.

“God, I hope he’s going to be okay.”

“And the children too,” I gulped.

“Yeah......” she sighed. “We definitely need a ‘chill day’ together. Just you, Emily, JJ, and I. A girls’ night out. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like heaven to me,” I said.

“Good, let’s set a date,” she said.

“I’d like that,” I said, smiling.

Emily was looking at me expectantly.

“Pen, I gotta give Emily her phone back- and I have to get off the phone anyway in case Gideon calls soon.”

“Of course, no problem, doll. Get back to me safe!”

“Bye, Pen.”

I hung up and handed Emily her phone back.

Emily looked at me.

“You okay, Mari?”

I knew she was referring to our moment on Jane’s porch. Maybe she also noticed my anxiety attack in the car ride as well as Spencer had.

All I did was smile at her and gave her a sure nod.

“Don’t worry about me, Em.” I promised her.

I looked around me to see officers walking about. Hotchner was resting against one of the SUV’s, Derek next to him. Both waiting for the call from Gideon.

It was another 45 minutes of us waiting for the call. During our wait, some of the officers grumbled that there wasn’t going to be any call. Hotchner told them to keep patient. Then the call finally came to Hotchner’s phone.

We rounded up to the vehicles.

I got into the SUV with Hotchner and Emily in the front; Derek, Spencer and I in the back, with the smallest person in the middle, appropriately being me.

With the police sirens blaring, we raced off into the depths of the Nevada deserts. I never truly realized how much of Nevada was just wide-space desert.

“Around 90 percent of Nevada is desert including parts of the Mojave Desert and the Great Basin. Nevada sees an average of only seven inches of rain every year. It’s actually the driest state in the U.S, with an average annual rainfall of only about seven inches, where the wettest part of the state receives about 40 inches of precipitation per year, while the driest spot has less than four inches,” Spencer said quickly to me after I asked how much of Nevada was just plain desert.

His voice was low enough for only me to hear, and not for the others, who were distracted with the task of finding Gideon’s car anyway. I’m sure if Spencer were saying this loud enough for them to hear, then he’d be told to shut up.

My lips curved upwards.

“Where do you learn all of this?”

“I like reading statistics.”

“Even statistics from a state you don’t live in?”

“I- I’m actually from Nevada.”

I arched a brow.

“Oh,” I said. “Las Vegas?”

Spencer nodded.

I could tell he was from somewhere on the Pacific coast based on his slight West Coast accent, but I didn’t peg him to be someone from Vegas.

“I really like Vegas. Haven’t been in a while though.”

“Who doesn’t like Vegas? It’s an adult’s own playground,” Derek said beside me.

“Well...I don’t know how to play cards,” I admitted.

Derek looked at me, his thick black brows creeping up his forehead.

“Oh, you bet your ass I’m teaching you how to play on the plane ride back,” he said. “Prentiss is good at cards too. Right, Prentiss?”

“Oh, you know it,” she said up in front.

We were still driving along the long stretch of desert. I wasn’t sure how far Gideon drove out, but it was all just barren desert so far. There was nothing else we could do but wait, until we saw Gideon’s car.

“I can play too,” Spencer said.

“He cheats,” Hotchner said up front.

“No, I don’t!” Spencer protested.

“I caught you last time,” Hotchner said.

“I’m from Vegas, I’ve been playing cards since I could read,” Spencer said.

“Impressive.” I smiled. Can you teach me?”

“Hey-hey, why are you asking him? I just said I’ll teach you!” Derek asked me with an offended tone.

“You heard him- he’s from Vegas.”

“So?”

“The Gambling Capital of the World- the City that Never Sleeps- Sin City. Why wouldn’t I want him as my gambling teacher?”

“Actually the city of New York is unofficially known as the city that never sleeps because New York's subway system never closes, tons of restaurants and bars are open until early in the morning- and the Staten Island Ferry is still hopping at 2 a.m.- so-“

“He may be from Vegas, but at least I don’t talk as much,” Derek said, interrupting Spencer.

I turned to look at Spencer.

“I don’t mind,” I told him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

The next ten minutes of the car ride was more in silence. Hotchner told us we were getting closer to where Gideon should be at.

It was a little scary seeing the sky darken every couple of minutes. By the time we saw Gideon’s car, the desert was pitch black.

I stepped out the car and was met with the cool desert night.

I barely paid attention to the chilly air when I saw the ambulance’s lights flashing in front of me.

The team and I rushed to up to the outline of Gideon’s frame in the flashing lights.

“He told you where they were?” Emily asked him.

Gideon pointed to a tall slope ahead.

“They were just over that ridge,” he said.

“Which way did he go?” Hotchner asked.

“West.”

Silo was radioing the police station to set up a grid search.

Hotchner, Gideon, and Derek went down the slope west to where, I assume Frank and Jane disappeared towards.

I looked at the kids, they were being checked out by the paramedics.

Emily was with them. Probably asking for their side of story.

“Are they all accounted for?”

Emily looked up from a child she was talking to.

“Yes, all of them.”

I gave a nod.

“That’s good,” I exhaled.

The kids were taken into either an ambulance or a police car. More police cars arrived to start on their search for Frank and Jane. The search went on for the entire time we were there, and to no avail.

Gideon said they just disappeared, and they did, where they couldn’t be found.

Before the sun rose, the team was requested to go back to Quantico. The Golconda police could handle the rest for now. That is until we found Frank and Jane.

“Do you think they could’ve made it out of the desert?” I asked Spencer on the jet.

“Because deserts have little to no water vapor in the air, it makes it harder to trap heat or cold in a desert. At night, the heat from the day doesn't stay trapped- and the desert gets below 40 degrees. If they made it out of the desert before the sun went down, there is a small possibility they could’ve made it to civilization- not including the chances of them coming across the predators also living in the desert,” he said.

“So, there’s a chance they could be already on the road again,” I said.

Spencer nodded wordlessly.

Hotchner was sat in a lone seat, reviewing over paperwork. Derek and Emily were sleeping in the main seats. Gideon was reading a book in a lone seat near the bathroom. Spencer was sitting in a seat near the entrance.

I first chose the seat next to Emily, but when she fell asleep, I noticed Spencer reading across the aisle from me and decided to sit in the chair across from him.

A moment of silence passed between us.

“Do you have any playing cards?” I asked Spencer.

“Uh... no. Usually- usually Morgan carries them-and he's sleeping right now, so….”

“Ah, okay. Guess we have to schedule our cards lesson another time,” I said.

Spencer didn’t answer, instead he got up from his seat and walked over to the kitchen area of the jet. I waited for a couple more seconds before he came back and sat in his seat once more, something now in his hands.

A travel-size chess board. And a plastic bag filled with all the chess pieces.

“You have a chess board set, but you don’t have playing cards?” I teased.

“I, uh, keep the chess board on the jet for when we head home. I usually play with Gideon, he’s busy now.” He gestured to Gideon, who was still reading his book. “Um, Morgan owns those playing cards, and I tell him to leave them in the jet so we can always have them for us to play whenever we have time on the jet, but he thinks that ‘someone might steal them’ which doesn’t make sense because-“

He stopped short.

“I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but I don’t mind,” I said honestly to him.

He stared at me for a moment then turned his gaze to the chess board in his hands.

“Um, I can’t teach you how to play cards now, but I can teach you how to play chess- if that’s okay?”

“No need,” I said. “I already know how to play.”

“Oh,” he said.

He placed the chess board on the small table in between us.

We set up the chess pieces.

“Black or white?” I asked him.

“Many chess masters have pointed out that the white side score better than black side. The exact percentage always depends on the number of games you consider, but in most studies, white’s winning percentage was around 55%.”

“Reid,” Gideon abruptly said, not looking up from his book. “You should take every advantage you can.”

_Jesus. He startled me. I didn’t even know he was paying attention to our conversation._

Spencer thought on Gideon’s words.

He flipped the board, white pieces in front of me.

“You go first,” he said.

I wasn’t too surprised by Spencer’s ability to play chess well. He was, in fact a very good chess player. The other thing that wasn’t too surprising was that he played fast. _Really_ fast. The second I made my move; he already had a chess piece in hand and played his piece with sureness.

It was a little intimidating at first, the speed it took for him to make his move. I sometimes felt a bit slow, detecting all the patterns of the chess pieces before making a move, but if I was being too slow for his pace, Spencer didn’t say anything.

The chess pieces were smaller than usual because they were travel sized chess pieces to fit a travel sized chess board. Because the pieces looked a little different than the regular chess pieces I was used to, it took a couple minutes for me to fully adjust to all the novel pieces in front of me.

It was almost 25 minutes later that my right hand stretched over for my Queen that was protected by the white pawn in front and glided it diagonally to the left side of the board.

“Checkmate,” I said quietly.

Spencer, who had his chin resting on his palm with his eyes on the board, startled. He uncurled from his bent-over position.

“What?” he whispered in a low voice, almost to himself.

I cleared my throat.

“Checkmate,” I said, this time a little louder.

A chuckle sounded on my left. I looked over my shoulder and saw both Emily and Derek awake and grinning widely at us.

“I told you to take every advantage you can,” Gideon mumbled, eyes never straying from his book.

“H-how-“

“You got beat, kid,” Derek snickered.

I worried at my lip. It sounded like Spencer was a little downcast. I hope he wasn’t upset.

“Do you want to start another game?” I offered him.

“I- I need to see how you won,” he said under his breath.

Spencer then began to rapidly reconstruct our whole game, piece for piece.

_Right. Eidetic memory. I’m sure I could try to do it too but definitely not as fast as Spencer._

I cleared my throat again.

“There was an opening on your right. You left your King unprotected.”

“You had me by move nine,” Spencer muttered, looking at all the chess pieces on the board.

Spencer slumped in his chair.

He seemed a little down. I started to feel bad.

All of a sudden, he straightened up and began to reset the pieces in all the correct spots.

Without saying another word, Spencer placed his black pawn in the middle forward two spaces. He looked up at me expectedly.

I matched his pawn with my pawn.

And so we played the game of chess over and over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! How did you feel about this chapter? Again, this episode is one of my FAVORITE episodes from season 2, so this was a joy to write. I really love the amount of times the team said the phrase "No way out" as it was a cool reference to the episode title.
> 
> Next chapter will be on the next episode, The Big Game, which is verrry significant to the story if u guys remember. 
> 
> Happy Holidays!!! 
> 
> The things I researched on behalf of Spencer [here.](https://www.nhsinform.scot/healthy-living/mental-wellbeing/anxiety-and-panic/how-to-deal-with-panic-attacks#:~:text=Ways%20to%20prevent%20panic%20attacks%201%20Doing%20breathing,stabilise%20your%20blood%20sugar%20levels%20More%20items...%20)  
> 


	8. Sinners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows season 2, episode 14: The Big game.

It was a Sunday night and I was heading to a pub I’ve never been to before. The team had planned a night out drinking after a stressful string of cases for them and I was invited, despite only being on the team for a handful of weeks.

I don’t really go to bars. I used to when I first turned 21 like most 21 year olds in the U.S do. But not too long after, I discovered that clubbing and getting drunk was not for me, much to my friends’ disappointment. But I agreed to go today, a little reluctantly, because Penelope begged me non-stop for the past few days.

“It’ll be fun,” she said. “Maybe we’ll find you a hottie. You’re not dating anyone, right?”

“Nope,” I said back to her on the phone. “But I’m not looking to date right now. I’m _terrible_ at relationships.”

“Oh, honey, it doesn’t have to be a long-term relationship, if you know what I’m saying.”

I smiled at her wily tone. “I _got_ you, Penelope.”

And that was how I was sitting at a round table with Penelope, Hotch, and his wife Haley. Emily went to get us drinks, Derek immediately headed for the dance floor in viewing distance where I can see him getting _really_ close with some young women, JJ was throwing darts with two young guys in the corner, and Spencer was over at a table Penelope called ‘the nerd table’ talking with a couple of people.

This bar was exactly how I remembered they were.

Loud, musty smell, hot, and crowded.

Apparently today was Super bowl Sunday, which I didn't know until a couple minutes ago from one look at the TV screens in the bar. I really couldn't care less about American football. I didn’t even know what this bar was called, only that Penelope really liked it, and has been coming here for a couple of years.

Emily was coming over with our drinks in hand.

“Here we go!”

She handed me my drink, a Sangria, and handed Hotch and Hayley their drinks.

“Cheers!” Hotchner said.

“Cheers! Cheers! Cheers!”

I lifted my glass up with theirs and took a drink.

It was a little strange seeing Hotch at a bar, drinking, actually looking like he’s having fun. He also seemed to look happier with Hayley, which admittedly was very cute.

“How are they treating you at the BAU, Mariana?” Hayley asked me.

“She means, am I being nice to you?” Hotch said.

I laughed. “Yes, everybody has been very nice to me,” I told Hayley.

Hayley was a very sweet person. Although I just met her 20 minutes ago, I could tell she had a lovely personality.

“Look at him move,” Penelope said next to me. I turned my attention to where she was looking at, although I already knew _who_ she was talking about.

Derek was dancing, well more like grinding, against a pretty girl in a dark colored dress.

“It’s like a cat.” Penelope said.

“More like a dog!” Emily scoffed.

“He did not ask them to dance,” Penelope jibed back at Emily. “They asked _him_.”

I sent a look to Emily.

_Don’t even try to argue._

“Okay,” Emily relented. “Okay, he’s a cat.”

“An alley cat,” Hayley snorted.

“Come on, Hayley, let’s go show them how it’s done,” Hotch said pulling on Hayley’s hand, leading her over to the dance floor.

“That is so sweet!” Emily said.

“It is,” I agreed.

Seeing Hotch smile was, again, very odd. But I sure as hell could get used to it.

Penelope stood from her seat. “I’m going to the loo. Do _not_ let anyone steal my seat,” Penelope said to me.

“Sure,” I said at the same time Emily said, “I’ll guard it with my life.”

It was just me and Emily at the table drinking and people-watching.

_Mhmm this drink is so good. Yeah, I know it’s a fruity drink, and fruity drinks are ‘girly’, as my friends would tease me for every time I got one, but I didn’t give a shit. It was still fucking delicious._

“So…. See anybody you like?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Em, you’re not setting me up on a date,” I told her.

“Mhmm, you sure? Lots of _cute, available young_ guys here,” she emphasized.

“Penelope didn’t put you up to this, right?”

“She may have texted me earlier that you were single and lonely.”

“I’m not lonely!” I protested.

“You’re young!”

“So?”

“ _So_..... you’re supposed to have fun and be wild. Trust me, do not get to my age and have regrets. Trust me,” Emily stressed.

“I don’t like relationships,” I told her.

“It doesn’t have to last longer than a night,” she said slyly.

“That’s what Penelope said too!” I groaned.

“I said what now?”

Penelope was back hopping into her seat.

“She doesn’t like relationships _or_ one night stands,” Emily said to Penelope.

“I didn’t say that!” I said a little too loudly.

“Oh so you’ve dipped your toes in the dirty secret meetings before?” Penelope asked me, her brows moving up and down suggestively.

“Yes, I have and they’re awkward as fuck the morning after,” I said to her.

“What’s awkward as fuck?” Derek asked coming up behind me. He was all sweaty from dancing.

“Nothing,” I rushed out.

Penelope opened her mouth.

“A one-"

“Shhhushhh-la-la-la-la.”

I pressed my hand over her mouth.

Emily laughed.

“What are you, four?”

Before I had a chance to give a retort back..

JJ appeared at our table. Her phone in her hand.

“We have a case.”

In the conference room, most of the team was here with the exception of Gideon. I wasn’t sure where he was, Penelope asked to him to come tonight, but I guess bars weren’t his thing.

I felt my gun holster digging into my hip bone. My own gun holster _and_ gun. I got it right after we returned from Golconda. I already gave Hotchner his Glock back. He had called me into his office after we landed in Quantico.

“Sanchez, I didn’t get to ask you how you were before. Are you doing okay?”

“Yes, I am.”

“After we went into the trailer, I noticed you were looking unwell,” he said.

_I shouldn’t have expected anything less from profilers. But I still wasn’t used them noticing, what seemed like, everything I did._

“Yes, I was having some minor anxiety. It was… difficult to see the inside of the trailer. But I’m doing okay now. It won’t happen again,” I said to him.

“Sanchez, I understand if you cannot handle the crime scenes, but you need to tell me if you need to leave.”

“No,” I said. “I just wasn’t prepared at first. It’s my fault. I want to be on this team, sir. I can stay on this team,” I said to him.

He stared at me for a couple of seconds before releasing his gaze.

“Okay,” he said.

I thought I was dismissed but he called my name again.

“I still haven’t gotten a definite reason for your unexpected transfer. The BAU section Chief Strauss claims her bosses called for another member on my team. Her authority was overridden.”

“Oh,” I said. I hesitated before asking him, “Do you want me to stay?”

Hotch took a moment to speak. “Yes, I believe you can soon handle the severity of the crime scenes and you’ll be another helpful hand on the team.”

I let out a little sigh of relief. “Thank you, Hotchner,” I said, grateful he wanted me to stay.

“Everyone on the team calls me Hotch. Please feel free to do so as well.”

“Thank you, Hotch,” I said.

I left his office feeling grateful he didn’t mention anything about having nightmares. I guess they didn’t notice everything.

Back in the conference room, Derek was complaining about his night being ‘ruined’.

“You know it never fails. Just as I’m about to get my groove _thang_ going, **bam**. We’re back at the BAU.” Derek said.

Emily, Penelope and I exchanged matching smirks with each other.

“You know, statistically a case doesn’t come in with any more frequency if you’re at a party or a gathering and if you aren’t. It’s a trick of the mind. We merely remember the ones that came in that way more,” Spencer said to Derek.

I chuckled along with Emily and Penelope, while Derek half-listened to Spencer’s speech with incredulous.

“So is it really that hard for you to get your groove ‘thang’ going again?” Emily asked.

“Only when he’s sleeping,” Gideon said, appearing suddenly from the door.

“Where were you tonight?” Hotch said.

“I told you, I went to the Smithsonian.”

“You missed a good time,” Emily insisted.

“I had a good time.”

I think it was almost impossible for me to ever have a good time at the Smithsonian as an adult. As a kid growing up in Northern Virginia, _so_ many of our field trips in elementary and junior high were at the Smithsonian. I bet I could name all of the staff members that have worked there since I was eight-years-old.

“Well, that’s definitely over.” JJ said as she came into the room. She flicked the monitor on with the remote. “Georgia. The Kyles: Dennis and Lacy were murdered an hour ago in their suburban Atlanta home.”

“An hour ago?” Hotch asked.

“Police were on the scene unusually fast,” JJ said.

“Why?” Derek asked.

“One of the unsubs called them and told them that the other was about to murder the victims.”

“You’re kidding.”

“From inside the house,” JJ said. “According to the dispatcher, the first male sounded terrified and begged them to get there because the other, who they both identified as Raphael, was about to kill the sinners that lived there.”

_Sinners?_

I had a bad feeling in my gut.

“Sinners?” Hotch said.

“The 9-1-1 center is going to send Garcia a copy of the tape,” JJ said.

“How fast was the police response time?” Spencer asked.

“4 minutes, 26 seconds.”

“During which time....” JJ clicked the remote again. “Raphael managed to do this.”

On the monitor, photos appeared of Lacy in her undergarments covered in blood, face down in her bed, the pillows scattered everywhere. Dennis was on the floor, his blood covering the space around him. It was messy. They were both slashed deeply by some kind of knife.

Penelope gasped beside and she had to look away from the monitor.

“In four and a half minutes,” Emily said astonished.

“Mr. Kyle is a dot com millionaire. His company is one of the largest employers in the community. There’s gonna be media coverage. Also, when they arrived, the police found this displayed prominently on the bed.”

“Revelations chapter 6, verse 8,” Hotch said of the picture of text, small text, suddenly shown on screen.

_Oh, Jesus Christ._

“They’re killing sinners. These guys are on a mission,” Derek said.

“And mission-based killers will not stop killing,” Spencer said.

“And I looked in behold a pale horse, and his name that sat upon him was death,” Hotchner said.

“And hell followed with him,” Gideon followed up.

Religious killings were something I was always wary of whenever I’d see them on tv. Or just from knowing about the history of serial killers who were ‘killing on behalf of God’.

Jim Jones, The Yorkshire Ripper, David Berkowitz a.k.a The Son of Sam...

Even though personally I wasn’t religious it was still upsetting to see people use religion as a reason to kill.

Though is it because of environment or because of these killer’s mental health? That was always something people wondered about when it came to why serial killers killed. I know it was most likely a mixture of both. Nurture Vs. Nature.

On the jet it was close to 12 am, and we were ready to take off.

“This is a bad one, isn’t it?” Emily said.

I was sitting on one end of the long couch across from where her, Derek, and Gideon were sitting.

“Unsubs with a cause are never good,” Derek said.

_Mission serial killers murder because they are motivated to seek revenge or eliminate a particular group of people. Their motives are generally not created out of psychosis. Carroll Edward Cole’s mission was to kill women who cheated on their partners and killed 13 women who had sex with him._

My criminology teacher’s voice relayed in my head.

“Pets, I just got the 9-1-1 call from the Georgia state police,” Penelope’s voice came from the laptop, her face appearing as well.

Penelope began playing the 9-1-1 call. “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher said.

“I’m at 1527 Chestnut Drive.”

The voice was whispering.

“I know where you’re calling from, sir. What’s your emergency?”

“He’s think they’re too greedy. They have too much.”

“Too much what?”

“Stuff. Possessions. Things they don’t need. Hurry!” The frightened voice said.

“You’re calling because these people have too much stuff?”

“No. I’m calling because Raphael- that’s enough.” There was another voice, a deeper older-sounding voice.

“I don’t want to.” The first voice whimpered.

“He’s calling because Raphael is going to kill the sinners that live here,” the second voice said.

“I’m sorry- did you say somebody is killing someone?”

The call ended. We all looked around, inaudibly agreeing that the call was definitely odd.

“Well, unsub one definitely sounds frightened. Maybe he’s doing this against his will?” Emily posited.

“I doubt it. He whispered,” Gideon said.

“He could have called out to save them instead of calling 9-1-1,” Hotch said.

“Not if he had a gun to his head,” Derek said, and I agreed. Caller one sounded undeniably terrified.

“If he had a gun to his head, why would he have dialed 9-1-1?” Gideon said.

“The second unsub said Raphael was going to kill someone. Is there a third?” JJ asked.

“Referring to oneself in the third person is not uncommon for an unsub. Uh, Ted Bundy gave thoroughly detailed accounts of his murders, but he never actually admitted to doing it. He would just say ‘the killer’,” Spencer said.

“Ok, so I’m gonna go ahead and run the name Raphael through the Georgia criminal databases as well as our own,” Penelope said.

“Thanks, Garcia,” Hotch said.

“Ever so welcome, my liege.”

I smiled a bit at Penelope’s words.

Hotch spoke. “We have a killing team on a mission in rural Georgia. We know what that means.”

“They’re not gonna stop until the mission’s complete,” Derek said, looking through the crime scene photos.

“We need to hit the ground running. JJ, we need an inside picture of the victims. Victimology can be critically important in a mission-based spree,” Hotch said.

“Already on it.”

“Prentiss and Sanchez, go to where the bodies are. Examine the wounds. They managed to kill 2 victims in 4 ½ minutes. We need to know how.”

“You got it,” Emily said, and I responded, “Okay.”

“I’m going to set up at the Atlanta field office and go over case files from the state. It would be highly unusual for a first kill to be this efficient.”

“Reid, you and Morgan, come with me to the crime scene,” Gideon said.

“We land in less than an hour. Everybody try to get some rest,” Hotch said.

I settled into the arm of the couch I sat on. Hotch told us to rest but I knew I couldn’t. I haven’t really been able to like I used to before Golconda. Before the trailer. Before the blonde hair and open eyes.

So I just pulled out a book from my bag and cracked it open. More nasty coffee for me today I guess.

At the coroner’s office, Emily and I were waiting for the coroner who did the autopsies of the bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Kyle. Unexpectedly, it wasn’t too hard seeing their bodies, out in the open. Maybe it was because they were clean of blood. Maybe because their eyes were closed.

They looked.... peaceful. Unlike the open-eyed woman back in-

Emily cleared her throat.

I was still staring at their bodies. The coroner was here, holding his hand out to me.

“Sorry- hello,” I said to him, and held out my hand to shake.

He smiled at me. “Good day.” He handed both of us medical gloves.

“Could you tell us the extent of the injuries?” Emily asked, a notepad in hand. I asked her earlier if she could be the one to write down the coroner’s findings.

He sighed and looked at the bodies laid out in front of us.

“They’re all long deep gashes. Each victim has virtually the same wounds- both throats cut, a vertical gash up one arm from wrist to elbow, and a vertical gash down one led from crotch to upper thigh.”

“The major arteries,” I noted.

“It’s damned efficient,” the medical examiner said.

“How much knowledge of anatomy would someone need to do this?” Emily asked.

“Anyone with a basic understanding of the body knows where these arteries are.”

“And do you have any idea which one of these wounds was delivered first?”

“Um, there was a- there was active blood flow from each of the wounds, so they’re probably all delivered at about the same time.” Emily began to observe their bodies underneath the sheet. From my position I could see the long stitched up cut from Mrs. Kyle’s thigh up to her crotch area. “With any of these wounds, the victim would bleed out quickly, almost like an animal at slaughter,” the coroner suggested.

Emily wrote down some more in her notepad.

“No. _Exactly_ like an animal at slaughter.” The coroner said, his eyes widening with realization. “A deer or a lamb or a cow, something like that. You- you cut the throat first, then- then sometimes open up other major arteries to assist in draining the carcass.”

“So he might be a hunter?” I suggested.

“Or a farmer,” he said. He paused. “Pretty much anyone in rural Georgia,” the examiner said in a defeated voice.

“Oh,” I said softly.

Emily finished writing in her notepad.

“Thank you, coroner. This will help us in the long run. We’ll try and find the guy,” she said.

The coroner nodded and left us.

“Let’s go tell Hotch,” I said to Emily.

We made our way to the station. I received a call.

It was from Penelope.

“Hey, Penelope.”

I put her on speaker.

“Doll, I just called Morgan at the crime scene. I was just sent a viral video by a friend, and it is of the murder of Mr. Kyle....”

Emily stared at my phone. “Garcia, what?”

“There was a video taken of the murder, from the Kyles’ computer. They found it, I’m trying to trace it and see who did this. There’s a bunch of videos on this website, that is of the unsubs. Hotch wants all of you to see it at the station.”

“We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“He says the world is a cesspool. Of greed. Lust. Disease....”

Back at the station, we listened to a video made by the unsubs. There was one person on camera, we couldn’t see his face. It was dark, and he was wearing a hoodie over his head.

“That sounds like unsub number one,” Emily pointed out.

“And he referred to being Raphael?” Hotch asked.

“God,” Gideon exhaled softly.

“It’s not God. It’s someone sitting right there next to him telling this guy what to say,” Derek said.

He, Spencer and Gideon came back less than 10 minutes after we did. Spencer was sitting at a desk behind us wearing gloves to inspect the Kyles’ computer.

Suddenly there was another voice from the video. This one had a stronger southern accent.

“That’s a new voice,” I said aloud.

“A third unsub?” Emily said incredulously.

“Could just be recorded from a religious program or sermon,” Derek suggested.

“Punish ye 7 times,” JJ said, quoting the voice from the recording.

“5 more victims,” Gideon said.

“These images were shot from the exact spot on the dresser where that computer sat,” Derek said.

“So, if this video came from that computer’s camera, then what? Did the unsubs bring it with them?” Hotch asked.

“As far as we can tell, this computer belonged to the Kyles. Garcia can do a better analysis, but it has their banking statements, vacation photos,” Spencer said.

Hotch turned his attention back to the video.

“One comes into the room and immediately goes after Mr. Kyle. What, did the other unsub turn the camera on?”

“We might be asking the wrong questions. This video, this message, it’s important. Clearly they want the world to see this. They need it. But they didn’t bring a camera with them,” Gideon said.

“Agent Franks. Does this building have wireless internet?” Spencer suddenly asked Agent Franks.

Agent Franks, a young man with dark skin not too older than me said, “Yeah. Why?”

“That camera’s on right now.”

My eyes widened.

“The computer’s connected itself to the internet. It’s streaming a feed somewhere.”

“Can we trace this stream to the destination?” Hotch asked.

“Keep it open, Garcia might be able-“ Spencer stopped when a series of small beeps came from the computer.

On the screen, bolden _words_ began to appear. I focused on them carefully.

_**The... armies of...... Satan shall not.. prevail.** _

The screen went black.

“It turned off,” Spencer said.

“So they’re controlling it remotely?” Hotch said.

“Is that even possible?” Emily asked.

“Yeah,” I said, put off by the surprise in her voice. “You didn’t know this?”

“You know how they can do this?” Hotch asked me.

“I mean I’m not a tech expert, but I knew of some IT people back in college who did this with their friend’s computers to help them troubleshoot their-“ I cut myself off.

“He’s a tech support worker,” I said, realization going through me.

Derek already began to call Penelope. Her voice pierced through the air.

“Speak loud and clear for the Queen.”

“Garcia, Sanchez believes our unsub is a tech support worker. He managed to turn off the computer remotely. Do you know how he was able to maintain access to the computer afterwards?” Hotch asked Penelope.

“Well, they’re not supposed to, but I suppose you could install a trojan horse during a service.”

“Garcia, can you check the Kyles’ phone records and see if they called for tech support in the last 6 months?”

“Right-O. Oh, and if you get me the Kyles’ laptop, I can search the drive for anything implanted there.”

“Fast as we can,” Hotch said.

“By the way,” Penelope began. “This video, gone crazy viral.”

“What’s that mean?” Gideon asked.

“That means it’s the most downloaded video on the entire internet, worldwide. And judging by the responses embedded in the files, people seem to think it’s pretty cool,” Penelope said in a choked voice.

“Call us if you find anything on the Kyles’ computer,” Hotch said and hung up on the phone.

“Murder as entertainment,” Gideon said.

His tone sent a chill down my spine.

“They probably don’t even realize it’s real. People see so many images online every day, they might assume it’s marketing for a horror film or something,” JJ said.

“The unsubs are right about one thing.” Derek said. “The world is pretty fucked up.”

“So what do we have so far?” Hotch asked. The officers in the station, had a board set up to write down our findings. But I kept my eyes trained in front of me, on the floor. _Thinking_.

“Well the killings are clinically efficient, and they had the ear marks of a slaughter, as in an animal.” Emily said.

“Or a sacrifice,” Derek offered.

“Haven’t been able to find anything in federal or state data bases that suggest similar crimes. As far as I can tell, it’s the first in a series,” Hotch said.

_That couldn’t be. A sophisticated killing like this, the unsub must’ve had practice before._

“At least one member of the team may believe he’s killing in the name of God. Suggesting a psychopathy that should display extreme levels of disorganization. Yet there are forensic countermeasures and somebody in control enough to do complicated computer work. One member of the team’s organized, the other’s extremely disorganized.” Spencer walked up to the bulletin board, pinned papers and photos of the crime scene on it. “But what’s strange is that the one that we would consider as being most in control, the one that made the phone call, can’t seem to stop the other one from killing. Usually the frenzied personality takes direction from the cooler head.”

I looked around the station seeing all the officers coming in and out. Busy day. A lot of people-

A flash of blonde hair and pale skin.

I sat up straighter in my chair, and my heart stopped.

The person was gone. Maybe in real life, but not in my mind. I shook off the image from my head and turned back to our conversation at hand.

“Alright, so let’s look at that,” Derek was saying. “Unsub one called the police before the killing, but he didn’t leave time for him to get there. Is the phone call just a guy working on a defense in case of capture? I mean maybe he didn’t want to stop the other, but he did whatever he had to do to cover himself.”

“So….” Gideon began. “What do we have so far?”

No one spoke.

“Not enough,” he said.

“So, Franks is right. None of the open knife cases fit,” JJ said to Hotch. Spencer and I were sitting at the main table. The rest of the team had gone out on a lunch break. I stayed back at the station, despite Emily’s pleads, and chose to eat the snacks they had here at the station. I wasn’t feeling too hungry.

Spencer stayed too, eating a Rice Krispy Treat.

“Please tell me there’s a ‘but’,” Hotch said.

“Well, I looked at it a different way. I looked for home invasions. 3 months ago, there was a prowler called in directly outside of the Kyles’ house.”

“A prowler?” Spencer asked.

“The witness was walking his dog in a nearby park. Going back to his car, he saw a man in dark clothing go over the back wall and start sneaking up to the house. By the time the state police got there, the prowler was gone.”

“Only one man?”

“Apparently,” JJ said.

“Was the witness able to describe him?” I asked JJ.

“If he did, it’s not in this case file.”

“Is there a name and address for the witness?” Hotch asked.

“Tobias Hankel. Lives about an hour from here,” JJ said.

“It’s a long shot, but he might be able to give us a description,” Hotch said. He turned to me and Spencer. “Why don’t you and Reid go out there, see if you can find Mr. Hankel and see if he remembers something.”

“Okay ,” I said. I got up from the table. Spencer did the same and we walked outside the station to go to Tobias Hankel's house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another fact, this episode was yet another episode where I perfectly imagined Mari as apart of the team and did help me in the making of this story. The next chapter is gonna be crazy y'all....
> 
> I've also got a question about my writing, do I use too much italics unnecessarily? Because I just noticed the amount of italics there are...
> 
> Thank for reading!! Have a happy new year. Let's hope it's better than 2020.


	9. Experiences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows season 2, Episode 14: The Big Game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's to a better year than 2020!! Thanks for all the support. Hope you like the chapter.....  
> Trigger warning: There will be some graphic descriptions of violence that may be uncomfortable for some readers. And light mentions of PTSD.

JJ handed me the keys to the BAU-owned black SUV. Within a couple minutes Spencer and I were off on the road. During the beginning of the car ride, it was admittedly a little awkward.

Spencer was reading a map of the city of Atlanta, directing me of which roads I should take to get to Mr. Hankel's house.

We haven’t really spoken much since our chess match on the jet. Not that he was upset with me or anything, we just haven’t for whatever reason.

After the first game of our chess match, we played a second round, with me playing on the white side again which I also won. Finally, Spencer gave in and took the white side, him going first for the 3rd game. It took longer than the previous two games and it ended in a stalemate. We only did one more match after that, the 4th and final match, with Spencer playing first and he won that time.

“You only won because she felt bad about kicking your ass for the past three rounds,” Derek said.

“The last game was a stalemate!” Spencer said.

“That’s still a loss for you, Genius.”

“Actually,” I said. “Spencer won this round fair and square.”

“Sure, keep saying that for his sake,” Emily said.

She and Derek were smirking and chuckling.

I shook my head at them. So _childish_.

“I _didn’t_ let you win,” I told spencer. “I didn’t think you’d like that.”

“How would you know that?” he asked, frowning slightly.

“Cause _I_ wouldn’t. Who would?” I said to him.

Spencer thought for a moment.

“Where did you learn how to play chess?” he asked.

“I, uh.... my father taught me. I was maybe.... five?” I said.

“Is that all? You didn’t go to chess camp during summer vacation? Participate in chess club at school?”

“Just face it, kid, ya lost, ya got beat, let it go,” Derek said suddenly.

“Derek, butt out,” I told him.

He rolled his eyes, still grinning. _He’s enjoying this way too much_.

I faced Spencer again. He was waiting for my answer.

I took in a breath.

“I also played chess in class a lot. It was kind of a brain-stimulating exercise my teachers wanted the kids to do,” I told him.

“Hm,” Spencer said. “You’re a really good chess player. A great opponent to face against. I’d- I’d like to play chess with you again.”

I smiled.

“If you don’t mind,-“

“-Losing,” Derek coughed loudly, not so subtly.

I turned around to meet Derek’s eyes. “Are you really enjoying this?”

“Are you kidding me? _Of course_ I’m enjoying this. Do you know what it’s like to be with someone who wants to continuously show you he’s smarter than you? I’m savoring this moment right now,” he whooped.

I frowned a bit at his words.

Even though I haven’t known Spencer as long as Derek did, I never felt that he tried to intentionally show off his intelligence in the arrogant way Derek was suggesting he did. He definitely could’ve, if he wanted to.

He was truly intelligent: graduating high school at only 12, getting diplomas like it was nothing, reading 20,000 words a minute. I’ve certainly met my fair share of asshole people who liked to boast their intelligence left and or right. And I knew for a _fact_ Spencer wasn’t anything like them.

I found it to be very refreshing.

I turned back to Spencer, also frowning at Derek’s words.

“ _Like_ I was saying: If you don’t mind me being a slower chess player than you, then it’s a deal,” I told Spencer referring back to his earlier proposal.

Spencer shrugged. “I didn’t mind.”

I gave him a small smile.

“And I don’t think you show off that you’re smarter than everyone on purpose- even though you are,” I snorted.

“I don’t mean to,” Spencer admitted, looking a little sad. “I just like looking into statistics and talking about them, and sometimes I get so distracted about them, I-“ he cut off himself off with a sigh.

“I’m rambling again.”

“Spencer, I don’t mind. I think your statistics are interesting,” I said.

His brow arched in disbelief.

“You do?” he croaked out.

“Yes, I think you having everything just stored in your brain is so cool. I’d love to know as much as you do.”

He didn’t say anything after that. He pulled out a book and began reading with his fast-paced method. I realized the conversation was over, so I did the same with my book I brought, however, definitely reading much, much slower than him.

Back in the SUV, we were out of the major roads and intersections. Now we were on the rural roads of Atlanta, heading further away from the city- into the countryside. Spencer told me I should keep straight from now on until we got to Mr. Hankel’s house.

It was quiet. Spencer was looking out his side of the window, twiddling his thumbs.

There was nothing but fields of grass, and the occasional silo we passed by.

It was a couple more minutes before I spoke.

“Did you want to get to know each other a bit more?”

I couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“Uh... Sure.” He said, a little hesitantly.

I laughed awkwardly.

“You start. I mean- ask me a question,” I clarified.

“Um. When’s your birthday?” he asked.

“June 2nd.”

I asked him what his favorite drink was. He said coffee; I responded with _‘Oh, I hate coffee’_ and I think he actually considered throwing himself out the car.

“Uh, what’s your favorite TV show?” I asked.

“Hm, I- I really enjoy Doctor Who.”

I gasped. “Me too!”

“You do?” Spencer inquired.

“Yes! My mom loved that show. I used to watch it after school with her,” I told him.

“Who’s your favorite Doctor?” Spencer asked.

“I gotta say Sylvester McCoy’s portrayal is just so nostalgic to me,” I said to him. Talking about Doctor Who made gave me major nostalgia and memories of watching TV with mamá on our living room couch floated up in my mind.

I asked Spencer who his favorite Doctor was.

“Tom Baker was amazing as the Doctor- he was the perfect combination of goofiness and seriousness, an iconic image, a-“

For the next half hour of the trip, we talked all we could about Doctor Who. About which seasons were better, ranking all the doctors, and side characters.

We had a little over 20 minutes left till we got to Mr. Hankel’s house.

I could tell Spencer wanted to say something. But he was hesitating with whatever he was going to say.

“Spencer?” I questioned.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but- how have you been sleeping?”

I peeked out at him through the corner of my right eye. _I wasn’t really expecting him to ask that._

“Why do you ask?”

“I’ve noticed you’ve been drinking a lot of coffee. And you just said you don’t like coffee....”

_Damn profilers._

“As a team, we kind of have an unspoken rule to not profile each other, but I noted you have been drinking a lot of coffee, and you just told me you hate coffee, which I have to say, I don’t understand why don’t like the taste-“ he stopped himself from his babbles.

I waited a moment before speaking.

“Firstly, I don’t like the taste because black coffee is so bitter to me, and I don’t really like sugar to be honest with you. Secondly...... I _haven’t_ been sleeping well,” I admitted to him.

“Nightmares?”

“Yeah,” I breathed out.

“It’s of _her_ ,” I confessed. “I see her when I sleep, when I turn corners- in the dark.”

Spencer was quiet for a while.

“Your nightmares are a form of PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder is caused by witnessing or being a part of a frightening or shocking event, and it can affect your day-to-day life and productivity. Your body is telling you what you experienced is a stressful event- maybe it was because she was close to your age, your same gender- the level of violence Frank committed against his victims- or- or maybe you feel guilty about not saving her in time.”

“Can I say all of the above?” I tensely chuckled.

Spencer cleared his throat.

“There are different forms of therapy to cope with the symptoms of PTSD. There is aromatherapy- art therapy, -“

“Art therapy?” I interrupted. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“No problem. I’m used to it,” he mumbled. He started speaking. “Case studies show how art therapy can help individuals diagnosed with PTSD and traumatic brain injury to overcome their symptoms and begin to leave their distressing experiences behind by using art projects. This kind of therapy can help people externalize their emotions and learn to cope with distressing memories through art, like paintings or sculptures.”

“Do you paint or sculpt?” he asked me.

“Yeah,” I said. “I draw and paint on the weekends. Occasionally, I try to sculpt when I have clay and the time to.” If I had known painting or sculpting could help I would’ve tried it sooner. Since Golconda, I’ve been too tired from not sleeping to put in the effort to even draw or paint.

“That’s good. It’s a start,” he offered.

“Is that all?”

Spencer hesitated before speaking again.

“It might help to speak to another person who also suffered from PTSD.” Spencer took in a breath. I looked away at from the road for a second to look at him, slightly worried with his change in demeanor.

“The BAU had a case about a year ago. Our unsub was the L.D.S.K, Long distance serial killer.”

“I remember hearing about that,” I told Spencer. It was all over the news. People thought it was another case like the D.C snipers. I remember back in 2002 my mom didn't want me to leave the house in October since I commuted to D.C for school and work often. She was deathly afraid that I'd get shot.

Spencer nodded.

“His name was Phillip Dowd; he was an ex-marine and cop who was dishonorably discharged. He began working as an ER nurse.”

Spencer paused.

“I shot him. He was the first person I ever killed. At first, I felt nothing, then it _hit_ me. I started to obsess. I looked up photos of him when he was in the Rangers. I studied cases he worked when he was a cop...... Even patients he treated when he was a nurse. I just wanted to get inside his life. I wanted to try and understand why our paths crossed and- to see if there was some way he could’ve been stopped before I came along. The thing that helped me move on was all the people he killed. I put their photos on my wall..... They had lives too.”

I didn’t know what to say for a couple seconds.

“Thank you for telling me that. I know it must’ve been a hard experience for you to go through,” I finally said to him.

I wasn’t feeling the same way how Spencer felt with his past trauma. I didn’t look up the woman’s name or anything about her life. I didn’t want to know about her life, what she was before becoming the corpse I saw back in the trailer, but Spencer’s words provided me some kind of comfort and relief I couldn’t explain.

We finally made it to Mr. Hankel’s residence. Unfortunately it was already dark even though it was only 5:30 pm.

Damn winter nights.

It was a cool night. The stars were shining. You don’t see stars like this back in the city from all the pollution. If only I could relish in the beautiful night sky. But we had a job to do.

Spencer and I got out the SUV and walked up to Mr. Hankel’s house. It was a typical old-style southern kind of house. We walked up the creaky stairs to the house.

I knocked on the front door.

We waited for maybe 20 seconds. I was about to knock again, when the door opened. Only a crack though. Just enough to see the man’s face.

“Hi, Mr. Hankel?” I said.

There stood a man, younger than I imagined, a gentle scruff of beard, and light brown hair over his forehead.

“Um... yeah?”

I give him a friendly smile.

I took my credentials out my inner jacket pocket and held it up for him to see.

“Mr. Hankel, FBI. I’m Agent Sanchez, this is Agent Reid.”

“FBI?” he said, confusion marking his voice.

“May we come in?” Spencer asked.

“Um.. I’m sorry, I don’t let anyone in the house.”

“Actually, I-I, uh, really have to, um... you know, go?” Spencer said.

“Really? Why didn’t you say anything in the car?” I asked him.

“Uh, do you mind?” Spencer said to Mr. Hankel.

“My father doesn’t like it.”

_His father?_

_He was keeping the door almost closed. Not letting us see inside his house. He was hiding something._

“Your father? You’re like- thirty,” Spencer said.

“At what age should one start disrespecting the wishes of their parents?” Mr. Hankel asked back in a serious tone.

“Um, you witnessed something a few months ago that might be very helpful to us,” I said to Mr. Hankel, trying to change the subject back to the reason why Spencer and I were here.

“I did?” Mr. Hankel asked.

“Yes, you saw someone go over a wall into a yard, you called the police?” I said.

“Me?” He said, confused.

“You didn’t?” I asked.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Is there another Tobias Hankel here?” I asked him, a bit puzzled.

“Just me and my father,” he said. “Charles.”

“There’s a report on file that lists you as calling 9-1-1, you were walking a dog.” I said to him.

“No, that’s wrong I don’t have a dog,” he said.

“Oh. Okay, well sorry to bother you, sir.” Unsure of what else to say. He was suspicious, but we didn’t have any probable cause to enter his house or search his premises other than he was acting strangely.

“Are you sure I can’t just quickly use the-“ Spencer began.

“Sorry, have a good night,” Mr. Hankel said. He shut the door.

Spencer and I walked down the steps of the porch. I drew my brows together as I began to think over what Mr. Hankel told us.

_Mr. Hankel denied calling the police.... even though it was him who did it. Why would you do that if-_

I stopped moving and looked to my right at Spencer. “If you were going to kill somebody, but you wanted to call the police first, what would you need to know?” I asked him.

“How long it takes them to get there,” Spencer said in realization, already on the same train of thought as me.

Spencer suddenly sprinted to the other side of the house.

“Spencer,” I hissed.

We had no warrant to snoop around his property. There have been many cases lost because of the stupid legalities of the law, and criminals who’ve gotten away just because-

“Mari! Get back here. It’s him!”

He pointed to a window. Inside, I saw computers, the screens showing several videos of people inside what seemed to be their houses.....

_Oh my god._

“He’s in the barn. Come on.”

Spencer ran off towards the big red barn at the back of the house. I followed after him reluctantly.

I didn’t like this. God, I really didn’t like this.

Spencer and I settled against the side of the barn.

He had his gun pulled out, and so did I, clicking off the safety.

“Call Hotch,” he told me.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere. We don't have cell service,” I told him.

“Ah, great. Of course, we have no service,” he whispered. “He’s definitely in here.”

Spencer turned to me. “You cover the front, I’m gonna go around back. Hotch knows we came here. He’ll come looking for us. We’ll just wait him out,” he hurriedly said.

_Bad idea, bad idea._

“We should wait for back-up,” I said, unsure of his plan. “I.... don’t know if we should split up?”

It was too late. Spencer began moving to the back of the barn.

“Spencer,” I hissed at him. “ _Spencer!_ ”

But he was already gone on the other side of the barn.

_Great._

I kept to my post at the front.

In the distance, I heard Spencer yell. His words were caught up in the wind.

I whispered in response, “What?”

I looked back to where he disappeared, to see nothing in the pitch black night. I never knew how dark it could be without any city lights. All I had to see was the luster from the moon’s light.

A sudden squeaking sound from the barn door sounded and I whipped my head back and my gun toward the noise.

My heart was pounding in my chest.

“Spence?” I whispered.

I hesitated. I shouldn’t go in without back-up. Any agent of the government knew this. DEA, FBI, CIA, whatever. It was a dumb idea. I never did back in the DEA, I always had a partner with me.

My unit chief would murder us if we ever went in alone when we were ordered not to.

_First time for everything....._

What if Spencer was in trouble and he needed my help inside the barn, while I was just waiting out here.

Damn it.

Technically we already went ahead without back-up, and Spencer split up from me...

I stepped forward to the opening of the barn.

Oh, fuck it all.

There were metal chains swinging from the wind at the front of the barn. That was all I could see. Everything else was pitch black.

I remembered I had a flashlight in my side belt loop. I grabbed it and held it up underneath my gun for better visibility in the barn. It was still, somehow dark. I couldn’t see more than 3 feet in front of me. I slowly inched forward, step by step.

I looked up at the roof of the barn, training my flashlight upwards. Couldn’t see much up there either. I couldn’t see the back of the barn either, where Spencer should be.

“Spence,” I tried again, whispering softly.

It was silence that spoke back to me.

My steps were quiet, and I kept shuffling farther and farther into the barn. Although, there was the fear I’ve been feeling since Spencer split up from me, my concern for Spencer overwhelmed it. I had to make sure he wasn’t hurt or in trouble.

If Hankel somehow gained control over Spencer I was his only source of help for miles.

_No. The team would be out here soon. I had to believe in that. They were coming._

I moved my left foot in front of me and stepped down.

_Squelch._

There was a wet feeling under my booted foot. Like on a rainy day, and you step into a muddy puddle. Only this wasn’t a mud puddle.

I swung my flashlight down.

A small pool of blood was underneath my boot. I inhaled suddenly and swiftly withdrew my foot from the blood. I saw there was also pearls surrounding the blood. Pearls from a necklace or from a different type of jewelry.

My heart was beating so fast, I thought I might be having another anxiety attack. I swallowed my dread down.

_Where are you, Spencer?_

I tracked the pool of blood to where there was a trail of it leading somewhere in front of me. I followed the bloody path to a mattress.

A bloody, torn up... mattress. It was covered in blood.

I could see there were.... strips of human skin on it, as well as discarded chunks of meat, and bones. Clothing ripped to shreds, and hair strands thrown about, _blonde_ _hair_.

I looked on with revulsion.

Abruptly, I heard a deep snarling a little to the left of the mattress. I jumped at the sound and raised my gun and flashlight towards it. This time, I could see what was in front of me.

A large dog baring his teeth at me. His entire snout covered in bloody chunks.

Another snarl came from the right of him, I swung my gun, another dog.... also covered in blood.

And another, the same dog breed, his coat matted in blood.

They just ate the person whose remains laid on the mattress.

I took the tiniest step back.

The dog on the farthest right lunged through the air at me.

I couldn’t stop it. I screamed loudly. Fear like I’ve never felt before coursed through my entire being.

I had my eyes shut tight out of instinct and my head turned away as I tried shielding my body from the soaring dog.

I pull the trigger of my gun and shot blindly towards the direction of the attacking dog.

_Bang! Bang!_

There was a sad pained yelp of a dog and shortly after a large thud.

I opened my eyes quickly to see the dog that jumped at me had two bullet holes in its motionless body. I didn’t have time to react to the fact that I just shot and killed a dog because the other two dogs were charging at me full speed, enraged at the death of their brethren.

The dog on the left dove for me.

His teeth sank into my left arm, and I fell on the ground from the sudden momentum of his weight throwing me back. I gripped my gun tightly and pressed it firmly against the dog’s neck and shot three times. He whined a pitiful whimper, jaw ever so slightly releasing its grip on me.

The dog on my right leaped at me at that moment, fully on top of me. His teeth were painfully biting and pulling at my neck and chest. His claws digging painfully into my shoulders and stomach.

My hold on my gun loosened and it fell to the ground uselessly. I had to bring my right arm up against the dog’s chest to keep his snapping jaws away from my face.

My right arm began to burn from the exertion of pushing back against the heavy mass of the dog above me, but my right arm right now was the only thing keeping the dog away from ripping my face off.

The other dog finally slackened his death grip on my left arm, and I tore my limb from its jaws, a sudden flare of searing agony arose from my forearm. Ignoring the pain in my left arm, I brought it up against the chest of the dog above me and with both hands pushed the dog’s chest at the same time I swung my right leg up under his belly and flung him off of me.

He landed harshly on his side, and within seconds recovered. The dog sprung back onto his heels, rushing straight back at me.

My gun was already in my hand and I brought it up and aimed at the dog. I squeezed the trigger and shot multiple rounds.

_Click, click, click._

I realized the clicking sound was the sound of the gun clip. I’d emptied my clip.

I lowered my gun to the ground.

Around me, in almost a perfect circle, the bodies of dogs were sprawled out, their blood perfectly blending in with the blood of their last meal.

I was sitting on that ground in the same position for a little while. Maybe 15 or 20 minutes.

Distinctly in my head, I knew I was in shock. More so than back in Frank’s trailer. That was different. I couldn’t even remember the reason why I was in the barn.

I was still looking at the scene around me.

I actually killed a living animal. I killed dogs. I like dogs.

Spencer told me he’d shot and killed someone before. I’m sure all of my team had. It was the life of an agent. But I’ve never killed anything in the DEA. Shot at, yes, of course- but _kill_?

How would I react when I would inevitably have to kill a human?

I heard it then. Loud blaring sounds in the distance. My body didn’t know exactly what it was doing.

It was like I was on autopilot. I hurriedly got up on my feet and staggered over behind one of the big stacks of hay bales on the side.

And waited. And waited.

For the blaring noises to come closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I also perfectly envisioned Mari in the dog attack scene when I first came up with the concept of this fic. I know a couple of you were theorizing that Mari could be the one getting abducted or maybe both her and Reid could’ve been taken, but I wanted Mari to go through the dog attack event because I believe that Spence’s time with Tobias was a deeply personal experience he went through, and I plan to expand on that in the future. I also tried to think about it plausibly, like would Tobias be able to take both of them captive? Would he kill one of them and just take the other? 
> 
> I didn’t want a too traumatic scene like getting abducted to be one of the first things Mari experiences within her first couple of cases at the BAU. I want to kind of build up to all the horrible things that happens in the show and I just felt that Mari getting taken would’ve been too quick in the storyline, if that makes any sense? Basically I want to build up suspension in terms of the dangers Mari might go through since there is a lot that happens in upcoming seasons. (Also, I’ve had this scene written out and finished for a little while now, so I probably wasn’t going to change it anyway sorry). 
> 
> See ya next week!!! Thanks for the support.
> 
> 💋


	10. Honor Thy Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows season 2, episode 15: Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doesn’t have to do with the chapter, but I’ve been revising & editing this fic and the changes add more detail to the story to show more foreshadowing, so if you guys want to re-read the previous chapters, please feel free to do so.
> 
> Trigger warning: Kidnapping

Noises were coming from behind the haystack I was pressed up against. I held in my breath for so long I thought I would pass out.

The people behind me were speaking, but I didn’t listen to what they were saying.

In my head, I began to count to one.

Three....two....one...

I sprang up from my position and raised and aimed my gun in front of me. I didn’t say anything. Didn’t announce my presence. I just pulled the trigger. It clicked.

“Woah!”

The figures in front of me were all shadowy, except for one. A blonde haired woman, her eyes wide-open, unblinking, skin all rotten. She was haunting me again.

I pulled the trigger again.

My gun clicked.

“Mari, it’s Morgan and Prentiss! Don’t shoot!”

I blinked rapidly. Sweat was dripping down into my eyes, they were burning but I kept them open as much as I could.

“Mari!”

I really looked at the people now, no longer just shadows.

It was a tall, dark-haired woman.... Emily. And a giant, muscled man.... Derek. Relief I’ve never felt before poured through me.

I was shaking.

“Put the gun down,” Emily said to me softly.

Slowly, warily, I lowered my gun.

It fell through my hands, clattering onto the ground.

My body was fully trembling now.

“Are you hurt?” Derek asked me. He and Emily slowly approached me.

A wave of dizziness rolled through me. My eyes rolled in the back of my head for a second, and I teetered on my feet.

Derek rushed forward and grabbed me before I could fall.

“I got you. I got you,” he was repeating.

In the background, I could hear Emily calling for an ambulance.

“I had to kill them,” I finally choked out.

“Shh, shh, I know, I know. You did the right thing,” Derek whispered to me, his hand stroking through my hair.

My vision was slightly clearing up, and the world stopped spinning enough for me to ask, “Where’s Spencer?”

Derek stopped running his hand through my hair. He was leading me outside the barn in the chilly night air, free of the putrid smell of blood. The wind whipped through my sweaty hair cooling down my heated body.

“Mari.... he was with you,” Derek said, using his words carefully.

“Yeah, we- we split up. He went to the back of the barn.... You didn’t find him??” I asked. My heart started to race in alarm.

“Okay, hold on, little miss. The ambulance will be here soon. Just hang on. I’m going to have an officer watch you till the they get here, okay?” Derek said. He handed me over to a nearby police officer.

I was in this stranger’s arms, to help me stay upright. My knees were still feeling wobbly.

I took the chance to look down at my left arm, which has been throbbing the whole time since the dog bit me.

The dog managed to rip out pieces of my flesh. I swear I could see the white of my bone. Maybe I was still woozy from shock.

It will scar. That I knew.

I heard the ambulances coming, but all I could think of is Spencer.

Is he okay?

_Spencer...._

The next thing I remembered I was in a stiff, uncomfortable bed. Not mine. My body felt numb all over and it took me several long minutes to find the energy to open my eyes.

My eyelids peeled opened.

First thing I felt was something in the nook of my right elbow. I slowly lifted my head from the pillow and looked down. An IV. I was in a hospital. I was in a small white room. Bright lights, no windows, machines surrounding me.

Last I remember I was at Hankel’s farm.

Spencer.

Did they find him?

I had to make sure he was okay.

I surged forward. My head began to spin.

I moaned. _Okay, maybe I shouldn’t get up._

I laid there for moment before I began to grope around the hospital bed I laid in. I found the call button for alerting the nurses.

I pressed it. Maybe a bit too many times.

The door swung open and an older blonde woman, a nurse in scrubs appeared abruptly.

“Hello, darlin’, is everything okay?” she asked.

“Where’s my team?” I asked her. My voice felt husky.

“Well, there is a woman here, waiting for you to wake up, I could get her for you. Um, Ms. Jareau?”

JJ.

She’s here.

“Yes, I’d like to see her,” I said.

“I’ll get her, sweetheart. Just a moment.”

The nurse left.

I waited for no more than two minutes. Before JJ came to my room, I took the time to fully look at my left arm, which I felt something securely wrapped around it. Gauze covered my entire forearm. I tried to peel a little bit of the gauze back to try and see the extent of my injury. But it was too tightly bound to my skin.

The door swung opened.

JJ entered the room.

“Mari, how you feeling?” She asked me, her voice a soft tone.

“Did they find Spencer?” I asked, not answering her question.

JJ didn’t respond immediately, and I knew then before she started speaking.

“Tobias Hankel took him. There were..... drag marks out in the corn fields. We put up road blocks. We’ll find him. Don’t worry, Mari.”

“It’s my fault,” I said, more to myself than her.

“No, Mari. Don’t do this, it’s not your fault. Tobias Hankel is the unsub, not you.”

“Yeah, I know, JJ. We figured it out after we got there. But it is my fault, JJ. I let him run off and didn’t wait for back-up. I was going to,” I said, mournfully.

_It’s my fault. It’s my fault._

“Mari, calm down. Please, tell me everything that happened.”

I calmed down enough to relay to JJ everything that happened when Spencer and I arrived at Mr. Hankel’s house.

“We went after Mr. Hankel, we waited by the barn. That was when we split up, he took the back- I stayed up front, and went into the barn. And I saw the- the mattress. There was human skin, blood, and the... dogs.”

I still felt awful about the dogs.

JJ was stroking my arm and shoulder, calming me down.

The door to my room opened.

I straightened up.

A young dark haired man; the doctor came inside.

“Hello, Ms. Sanchez. I am Doctor Moon, I treated to your bites. How are you feeling?”

“I feel fine,” I told him. “Is my arm okay?”

“Yes, let’s see here.” He took out a file, reading the papers inside it. “You suffered from severe dog bites and mild scratches around your neck, shoulders, chest, stomach and your left arm.”

_My chest? My neck?_

I looked down as much as I could to see there were bandages covering those areas. When the latter dog jumped on me, his claws were digging into my shoulders and stomach. Biting at my neck and chest....

The doctor continued speaking. “Your left arm was the one I was most worried about; you lost a good amount of blood. The dog managed to rip off pieces of your flesh exposing your wound, but thankfully because the ambulances were notified quickly, there shouldn’t be any risk of infection.”

“We used a cleaning solution to flush out any bacteria that entered. I will prescribe you antibiotics to prevent any further infections. Your tetanus shots seemed to be in order, but we did gave you a post-exposure rabies vaccination in case the dog's that bit you did have rabies. You received about 18 stitches in your arm and have to wear the wrappings for a couple weeks.”

I nodded as I received all that information.

“Okay, okay. So I should be fine?”

“Yep, just don’t overuse that arm, and rewrap your wrappings daily, and you’re good to go,” Doctor Moon said.

“Thank you, doctor,” I said.

“Yep, call for me if you have any more questions.” He left the room.

“How long am I supposed to be here?” I asked JJ.

She narrowed her eyes.

“Ideally until you’re allowed release.”

“I feel fine. How long was I sleeping for anyway?” I asked her.

“Only 7 hours.”

I must’ve been more sleep-deprived than I thought because 7 hours of sleep was more than I usually got after Golconda.

“I want to help find Spencer.”

“Right now all you need to do is rest up. We have this covered. The team is looking through Tobias Hankel’s house now, and we’re doing everything we can to find Spencer. Garcia is actually coming here in a couple hours to look into Hankel’s computers.”

“I need to be there.”

“Mari-“

“JJ, please. I was the last one to see Spencer, before he was taken,” I pleaded to JJ. “You heard the doctor, it’s just the bite on my arm that I should rest. I won’t overuse it. I’m right-handed,” I told her.

JJ looked conflicted. A couple seconds passed.

“I don’t know,” she finally said.

“Please, JJ,” I said.

“Well, you do look fine, but,” she sighed. “Hotch won’t be happy.”

“Let me deal with him.”

JJ bit her lip.

“Rest for a least a few more hours. I’ll ask the doctor if you can be released.”

“Thanks, JJ,” I said with a grateful smile.

“Rest now or no deal,” she said, raising her brows.

“Okay, mom.”

Like I promised, I rested my body for the next few hours.

When the hour came up, JJ came back into my room and told me to get ready.

While I definitely felt better in my life, I had to work. For Spencer. Because for the past couple of hours guilt ate at me. I should’ve followed after him. Or maybe stopped him from splitting up. I wouldn’t have gotten attacked by the dogs, and Spencer wouldn’t have been kidnapped.

_Kidnapped._

The pain and fear I felt from the dog attack couldn’t match what Spencer must be feeling right now. I let him down. I let him get taken. I had to help my team get him back safe and sound.

Like JJ said, Hotch wasn’t too happy. He pulled me aside when he saw me walk through the front door of Mr. Hankel’s house with JJ.

“Why aren’t you resting in the hospital?”

Hotch spoke in a serious low tone and for a second I felt like a child getting reprimanded by their parent.

It was kinda scary.

“The only really bad injury I have is my left arm. My doctor told me to rest it and not overuse it, and I won’t,” I promised to him.

“You know I can’t have you working here after what happened. You need to rest.”

“I’m rested, I feel fine in fact. The drugs haven’t worn off yet,” I said, trying to lighten up his mood.

It didn’t work.

“Sanchez, I am saying this because I am concerned about you working so soon after what happened last night.”

I opened my mouth to talk but Hotch kept speaking.

“After the case in Golconda, I understand that more traumatic incidents will be difficult to come back to work so soon.” _Killing those dogs._ “I just want to be sure you’re up to start working again,” he said.

“I appreciate your concern, Hotch. I really do but... I have to help you guys. For Spencer. I won’t overwork myself; I promise. If I feel any pain, I’ll rest.”

Hotchner held a bit of a disbelieving stare.

I don’t know what it was that I said but all I did know was that he said, “Okay.”

Penelope was very concerned.

“You were bit by a fucking dog! I saw them in the video. They were huge! Mari, they looked sick, like-“

Penelope just landed in Atlanta on the BAU jet. I was leading her inside the house when she practically jumped me and began inspecting my body for injuries with her prodding hands.

“Okay... Pen, I know. It was scary. It was! But we all need to focus right now. For Spencer. At least we know I’m fine. We don’t know how Spencer is now,” I told her.

Penelope’s mood turned somber.

“Do the others think he’s dead?”

“No,” I insisted. “Tobias wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of taking him just to kill him. He’s on a mission, he has Spencer for a reason.”

Penelope relaxed.

“Okay. Okay. That’s what I needed to hear. Let’s go get our Einstein back.”

-

Tobias Hankel was an avid journaler. He documented almost every second of life. That was the good _and_ the bad news. The team was still in the process of going through all his journals. I joined them in the task.

I was still going through Tobias’ journals when the sun went down. I didn’t even notice the time go by. There was a cramping in my stomach that let me know I needed to eat soon, but I pushed the urge away every time to continue going through the journals.

It was a bit demanding to read through the journals, having to go back through the words every so often, just in case I missed anything or if I misread them wrong. I knew I was reading the journals slower than the rest of the team, but I didn’t let it get to me.

At least Tobias’ hand-writing was easy to read. He had big handwriting, all spaced-out and capitalized. I’ve always had trouble reading and differentiating between uppercase and lowercase letters.

Tobias mainly wrote about God. How great and powerful he was. How he punished those who sinned. A bunch of religious rambling. It was immensely draining to read his thoughts on the pages. I kept going through them, however. For Spencer.

It became apparent that Tobias killed those who sinned. The videos he had of the people on his computers were those who sinned in some type of way.

JJ told me the woman who was torn to shreds by the dogs in the barn had cheated on her husband. I didn’t know the significance of how she died and how it tied to the bible. My parents weren’t particularly religious people. I could count on one hand the amounts of times I even held a bible.

Apparently the woman was a representation of Jezebel, who was thrown out of a balcony and fed to the dogs for committing adultery.

Tobias had put the video online for people to watch the dogs rip out her eyeballs, her hair, her throat and later consuming her body.

Last night while I was still resting in the hospital, Derek and Hotch found the body of Charles Hankel in the basement of Tobias’ house, in a freezer type place. Tobias Hankel’s father, his body was still preserved. He died around six months ago. That was the stressor. The reason for all these killings.

This morning shortly before Penelope arrived at the house, JJ and Emily went to interview someone Tobias knew from narcotics anonymous which he mentioned in one of his journals. Hotch made it clear that as long as I worked on this case I was to take it easy and stay inside the house, so I couldn’t go with Emily and JJ.

I adjusted my glasses higher on my nose after it started making its way down. Ever since Golconda and my poor sleep schedule, my eyes felt so exhausted that I couldn’t even wear my eye contacts. They were so irritated, so I started wearing my glasses more recently.

“I think I got it.”

Derek, Hotch, Gideon and I were here in the living room with Detective Faraday, the main detective assigned to this case. They were talking about their findings from the journals. I stayed quiet and focused my entire attention on reading Tobias’ journals. So far, I haven’t found anything useful.

I looked up from the journal to look at Hotch.

Hotch spoke, “Journal entry- December 6th. Father sick. Wants me to put him down. I say _thou shalt not kill._ He says, _honor thy father._ Must pray for guidance.”

“So his kills his father as an act of mercy?” Gideon said.

“This is two months ago. Tobias Hankel’s father had been dead for 4 months already.”

“That’s exactly it,” Derek said abruptly. “Look at the floor.”

I looked at where Derek was gesturing at.

There were scuff marks on the wooden floor of Hankel’s living room.

“These scuff marks are fresh,” Derek said. “I mean, it’s like 2 people were moving the chairs constantly, trying to fight for control.”

“So?” Detective Faraday asked.

“This journal matches Charles Hankle’s handwriting. But it was written after he died.”

“So one of Tobias’ personalities is of his father?” I asked in incredulity.

“Think about it. Upstairs, Tobias’ room- it’s got junk piled from floor to ceiling, but the other bedroom could pass a military inspection,” Derek said.

“His brain couldn’t handle the moral contradiction, so it split into two personalities in order to keep his father alive,” Hotchner said.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing at first. Dissociative identity disorder.

“So who is Raphael?” the officer asked.

“My guess- he’s a mediator between the two. Angels have no human emotions. Live or die, they don’t care, as long as it’s God’s will,” Gideon said.

“We need to start profiling Tobias’ father. He may be the one who chose where to take Reid,” Hotch said.

“I can get Penelope to search his computers,” I said to him.

He nodded and I walked away from the living room towards the room filled with Tobias’ computers. Penelope was sitting at the center of it all. Her back to me.

“Pen, I need you to log into the system as Tobias’ father. Charles Hankel,” I said to her.

“This system was set up 3 months ago, his father was already dead,” Penelope said, a bit confused.

“We believe Tobias has a split personality disorder. And one of them being his father.”

“Oh, god. Okay, give me a sec,” she said.

She changed the system to Charles Hankel’s account.

Immediately, different types of videos popped up on screen. The videos recording unsuspecting people in their homes on the screen changed into something somehow worse.

Videos of explosions, gun violence, terrorism, and buildings on fire.

“Oh,” Penelope murmured.

I swallowed.

“Okay, see if you can find anything that can lead us to Spencer,” I said to Penelope.

As soon as Penelope began typing, the computer around us began to shut off.

“What happened?” I asked her.

“I don’t know,” she said. She started to find the source for the blackout when the screens turned back on.

Penelope gasped at the same time I saw it.

_Spencer._

He was sitting in a chair-no, I saw it now. He was tied down to the chair with restraints. There was....blood matting one side of his head.

“Oh my god.”

I dashed to the door and screamed out in the hallway.

“Guys, come in here. It’s Spencer,” I yelled.

The rushing of footsteps sounded through the rickety house. The team crowded into the room.

“He’s been beaten. Can you track him?” Emily asked Penelope.

“Hankel’s only streaming this to his home computer,” Penelope said dejectedly.

“This is for us. He knows we’re here,” Gideon said.

“I’m gonna put this guy’s head on a stick.” I heard Derek mutter and I could get behind what he was saying.

“Why can’t you locate him?” Hotch asked.

“He’s re-routing to a different I.P address every 30 seconds. I can’t track him,” Penelope said.

I sucked in a breath.

Suddenly there were voices coming from the video.

“Choose a sinner to die, and I’ll say the name and address of the person to be saved.”

_Oh my god. He was forcing Spencer to pick a person to die to save another?_

It took a couple of seconds for Spencer to respond to him.

“I won’t choose who gets slaughtered and have you leave their remains behind like a poacher,” he said.

My brows drew together.

That was a very specific way of refusing him, using a comparison like that.

Before I had time to process that however, Tobias- err Raphael came into the camera’s view and pulled Spencer up from the chair by the front of his shirt.

“Can you really see into my mind, boy? Can you see I’m not a liar!!” he shouted, so angry and loud I felt sick with fear for Spencer.

“Choose one to die and save a life. Otherwise, they’re all dead.” He released Spencer back in the chair unceremoniously.

“All right, I’ll choose who lives,” Spencer said. He sounded defeated.

“They’re all the same,” Raphael simply said.

Spencer took his time to answer Raphael’s request.

“Far right screen,” he said after a couple moments.

Spencer seemed to be looking past the camera where there probably were computers with videos of people in their homes.

“Marilyn David, 4913 Walnut Creek Road,” Raphael said to the camera. To us.

“You got that?” Hotch asked Penelope.

“Yeah,” she responded, speedily typing away on the keyboard. She pulled up Marilyn Davis’ phone number.

Gideon began calling her phone number. I heard him tell Marilyn to close her computer shut, so the camera wouldn’t tape her inside her house anymore.

I kept my eyes on the computer screen the whole time. On Spencer. Other than the dried blood on the left side of his face, he looked otherwise unhurt. His shoes were off, probably to prevent him from running, but for some reason he had only one sock on, leaving the other foot completely bare.

As I was staring at the broken state of Spencer, the screen abruptly shut off. Raphael had turned off the live feed.

My breath loosened and panic built up in me.

How much longer can Spencer hold on for?

Derek took off from the room. I heard him slam his hands against the door in rage as his stomping feet sounded throughout the house.

“So now what?? Wait for a 9-1-1 call, and hope we get there in time?” Detective Faraday said to us.

No one said anything. We didn’t have a good enough answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in the episode, where JJ is attacked by the dogs, she didn’t go to the hospital, just got bandaged up but I think she should’ve been hospitalized after being bitten by feral dogs, but whatever I know it’s just a tv show just like how this an unprofessional fic. 
> 
> I decided to write in JJ waiting for Mari in the hospital because if you haven’t noticed there hasn’t been a lot of friendship moments between JJ and Mari like Mari has with Em or Garcia. Admittedly that might be because I’m not the biggest fan of JJ. Eek. Don’t kill me!! I don’t hate her; don’t get me wrong, I just don’t love her character in comparison to the other members, but I do want her and Mari to have a good friendship so that’s why I created their little moment in the hospital. JJ is such a mom. Again, thank you for the support. See you next week!!!


	11. Raphael

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post this chapter a couple days earlier than usual because I realized the last chapter was relatively short, and this chapter follows right after the events of chapter 10 so...... why not? 
> 
> Enjoy!😘

We received a call from the police station not even an hour later of a 9-1-1 call that matched the description of the previous calls made by Tobias.

Only Hotch and Gideon went to search the recent crime scene. The rest of the team stayed behind at the house.

It was dark outside again when they returned. The recent victims were Pam and Mike Hayes. He was a local defense attorney. She was an elementary school teacher. Another Bible passage was left by Tobias.

Isiah 59.

_No one calls for justice, no one pleads their case with integrity. They rely on empty arguments, they utter lies, they conceive trouble and give birth to evil._

A full day now passed since Spencer’s abduction.

I stayed the entire time with Penelope. We weren’t getting much else from Hankel’s house. Right now I may as well just wait for another live feed from Hankel with Penelope. My knee was starting to get stiff from how long I've been in a sitting position, so I got up and walked around for a bit, exercising my leg, before going to the bathroom.

While using the bathroom, I inspected some of my injuries from the dog attack aside from my arm. The bandages on my neck, chest, and stomach. I peeled back the medical tape to uncover the cuts beneath. These ones were very minor injuries in comparison to my left forearm. Just tiny scratches and bite marks, a slight pink color.

My arm wasn’t hurting anymore. It just felt tender.

“Hankel just posted the latest murder,” Penelope said, drawing me out of my thoughts.

Again.

For the everybody on the internet to see. I got up from my chair and left the room, heading down the stairs.

Derek was the only one of the team in the living room. There was a glass bulletin board showcasing every lead we had to find Spencer in the middle of the room.

“Derek, Hankel just posted the last murder online. Can you go get Gideon?” I said to him.

“I’ll get him,” Derek said, leaving to go do that.

-

Gideon didn’t understand why Penelope couldn’t just ‘shut it down’.

“Because I can’t pinpoint his I.P.F,” she told him.

“Just remove it once he sends it,” Gideon said.

“It’s the internet, sir. Once something’s out there, you can never take it back,” Penelope tried explaining to him.

“Can you just do something, anything? I do not want him thinking he has a pulpit,” Gideon stressed.

“I have a list of everyone from the file-sharing chain. I could send out a mass warning that the video is actually a virus.”

“Good, do that,” he said.

“I’m going to do that. Okay.”

It took her a couple minutes, but Penelope managed to do it.

“It should be active now. He should see it any second now,” Penelope said.

It was less than five minutes when the Penelope’s monitor suddenly had a live feed of Spencer, who was still tied to a chair.

I straightened up in my seat.

“This ends now.” I heard. “Confess your sins.”

Spencer didn’t answer him.

Hankel rose his fist and swung at Spencer’s face. I winced.

I looked over to see Gideon looking at the screen from behind Penelope’s chair who was visibly shaking hard. I stretched over to hold her hand. She squeezed it tightly.

“Confess!” Hankel roared.

“I haven’t done anything,” Spencer groaned.

Hankel punched him again. I grimaced. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t at the same time.

“Confess!” Hankel screamed again.

He slapped Spencer and then knocked him down to the floor. Spencer fell with a hard thud against the wooden floor and began to twitch; his entire body started to spasm. Like- exactly like he was OD-ing.

“Oh my god. He’s killing him,” Penelope breathed.

Spencer’s breath came in shallow pants. He made a choking sound, then he stopped moving all together. His body slumped against the floor, completely slack.

“He’s overdosing,” I breathed out.

Gideon left the room to the get the others. They came piling into the room.

“What the fuck just happened?” Derek demanded, eyes on the screen where Spencer was still lying motionless.

“He’s exhibiting signs of an overdose, but I-I don’t know what drug it is,” I said.

JJ gasped beside me.

“Emily and I just went to visit the friend of Tobias, the one who went to the Narcotics Anonymous meetings. He said Tobias used dilaudid to escape and forget.”

_Dilaudid. An opioid. Often referred to as “heroin in a pill.” Dilaudid is eight times stronger than morphine and four times stronger than heroin, making it an extremely dangerous drug. An opioid overdose can result in loss of consciousness and stopped breathing, which can prevent oxygen from reaching the brain._

“Fuck,” I said under my breath.

I turned back to the computer screen.

Spencer was still lying on the ground. Still not moving.

“Is he...” Emily began.

“He needs medical attention _now_. Dilaudid is a serious and dangerous drug. Even if he’s passed out, he needs to be revived soon so that oxygen is properly reaching his brain,” I said to her.

“Well, he doesn’t have medical attention right now, now does he?” Derek snapped.

I was momentarily stunned by his harsh tone.

“Morgan,” Hotch began. Warning in his voice.

“No, don’t do that, Hotch. We all know if she and Reid had stuck together at the barn, then he wouldn’t be in this goddamn mess.” Derek yelled back at Hotch.

“You think it’s my fault,” I simply said. I didn’t try to argue because he just reaffirmed my thoughts and feelings I’ve felt since Spencer’s abduction. It was my fault.

“No. Morgan is just feeling a little upset right now. We _all_ are,” JJ said. She sent a warning to look to Derek.

“Guys! Guys!!” Penelope shrieked.

I looked back at Penelope to see past her at the computer screen. Tobias was there, and he was..... giving CPR to Spencer.

Three chest compressions, then mouth to mouth resuscitation. He did that for over a minute, pressing harshly on Spencer’s chest. The entire room watched with anticipation.

Suddenly Spencer began coughing up and taking in deep breaths of air. The color restored back to his face.

My breath released in a rush and my eyes closed.

_Thank fucking god._

I could feel the relief from the team pour in the atmosphere of the room.

“Wait, when was the video of the last murder posted?” Emily said to Penelope.

“9:23.”

“And what was the time of death?” she asked.

“The 9-1-1 call came in at 9:04, and the murder must have been moments later,” Hotch said.

“That’s a nineteen minute difference,” I murmured, more to myself than to them.

“How long would it take to post the MPEG?” Derek asked.

“Two or three minutes,” Penelope said.

“Let’s call it two. You figure a maximum of sixty miles an hour in a residential area. That means Hankel has to be within a seventeen-mile radius of the crime scene,” Derek said.

“Garcia, can we see it on a map?” Hotch asked.

In a few keyboard strokes, a map of the last murder showed up. And Penelope put up a radius of, I’m guessing was seventeen miles out from the crime scene.

“Call Faraday. I want that area locked down like it’s martial law,” Gideon said, voice dangerously low.

“Guys,” Penelope said.

I turned my attention back to the computer screen.

“You came back to life.” Tobias wasn’t the one speaking anymore. Raphael. “There can only be one of two reasons.”

“I was given C.P.R,” Spencer tried explaining.

I bit my lip. Raphael wasn’t going to take that as an answer. He was going to believe it was some kind of divine intervention.

“There are no accidents. How many members are on your team?” Raphael asked Spencer.

“Seven.”

“The seven angels who had the seven trumpets prepared themselves to sound. The first sounding followed hail and they were thrown to earth.”

_What? I had no clue what he was talking about. Again, I have only held the Bible a certain amount of times to count on one hand._

“He thinks it’s revelations- the seven archangels versus the seven angels of death,” Hotch said seeming to hear my confused inner thoughts.

“Tell me who you serve,” Raphael asked Spencer.

“I serve you,” Spencer responded. He was back upright in his wooden chair.

“Then choose one to die,” Raphael said.

Penelope gasped beside me.

“Your team members- choose one to die.”

“Kill me,” Spencer said. He didn’t even hesitate.

_No. Don’t you dare, Spencer._

“You said you weren’t one of them.”

“I lied.” I sucked my lip into my mouth.

_Don’t._

“Tell me who dies,” Raphael asked once more.

“No,” Spencer said.

Raphael brought a revolver up to Spencer’s forehead.

“Choose and prove you’ll do God’s will,” Raphael said.

I could feel Penelope begin to shake again.

_Oh my god. No...._

“No,” Spencer said to Raphael.

Raphael pulled the trigger. The gun clicked.

My heart stuttered.

“Choose.”

“I won’t do it,” Spencer said.

The gun clicked.

The room was silent in nervous anticipation.

“Life is a choice,” Raphael said. “Choose.”

Spencer paused this time.

 _Please just choose one of us._ The amounts of rounds were running out in the revolver.

“I choose....... Aaron Hotchner.”

Even though I wanted him to say a name so he wouldn’t get shot, it was still shocking to hear him say one. Especially Hotch’s. I figured he was going to say me. He didn’t know me as long as the other members. And I was the one who got him taken. I also didn’t expect him to say the words he says next.

“He is a classic narcissistic. He thinks he’s better than everyone else on the team. Genesis 23:4. “Let him not deceive himself and trust in emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense.”

I felt Hotch leave the room. I followed after him. The live feed soon turned off.

Hotch had picked up a bible and was skimming through it.

I felt the others enter the room behind me.

“I’m not a narcissist,” Hotch murmured.

“Come on. Look, you can’t think anything from that,” Gideon said.

_Why did Spencer say that about Hotch? None of it was true, so why’d he lie? There had to be a reason._

“No. Stop. Stop. All right, everybody right now- what’s my worst quality?” Hotch asked.

Nobody said anything. We all looked around at each other. It was an awkward question to answer. Especially from our boss.

“Ok, I’ll start,” Hotch said. “I have no sense of humor.”

“You’re a bully,” JJ then said.

I looked sharply at her. _Jesus Christ, she just went with that._

“I’m a bully,” Hotch said, not affected of what JJ said.

“You can be a drill sergeant sometimes,” Derek admitted. Internally, I agreed with him. Hotch has acted like one a couple times.

“Right.”

“You don’t trust women as much as men,” Emily said.

“Okay.”

Hotch looked at me.

I looked around in my head for something to say. I didn’t know what to say, so I just said this.

“You scare me sometimes.”

Derek and JJ snorted beside me.

“Okay,” Hotch said.

“I’m all these things, but none of you said that I ever put myself above the team, because I don’t, ever. Reid and I argued about the definition of classic narcissism, and he knew that I would remember that, and he also quoted Genesis, chapter 23, verse 4. Read it.”

He handed JJ the bible.

“I am a stranger and a sojourner with you. Give me property, forbear a place among you that I may bury my dead out of my sight,” JJ read.

That was different from what Spencer said on the video.

“He wouldn’t get it wrong unless it was on purpose,” Hotch said.

He wouldn’t. He’d remember it word for word.

_Bury my dead out of my sight..._

A cemetery.

“He’s in a cemetery,” Derek said aloud.

Penelope couldn’t find a cemetery in our seventeen mile radius from the last murder.

Spencer has been talking to us through the video using hidden sentences he knew we’d eventually get the whole time.

What was it he said earlier? That strange, pointless simile.

_I won’t choose who gets slaughtered and have you leave their remains behind like a poacher._

“Spencer said something earlier about _slaughtering_... and _poaching_ ,” I said audibly.

“Check to see if there are any reports of poaching in the last couple of days,” Hotch said to Penelope.

She typed away on the keyboard.

“A farmer reported two sheep being slaughtered on his property,” Penelope said.

“Where are we talking?” Derek asked.

Penelope centered in on the area of Walton.

“What’s that patch of green there?” JJ asked, pointing to a small area of green.

“Marshall Parish. I think it’s an old plantation,” Hotch said.

“Wait. Tobias wrote in his journals about staying clean and keeping away from Marshall,” Emily said.

“Guys, there’s a cemetery on the grounds,” Penelope said.

We hurried out the room.

“Derek, you drive the second SUV, I’ll drive the other,” Hotch said.

He stopped at the front door when he saw I was about to exit the house.

“I said you’re to stay in the house at all times.”

“Hotch, I can’t stay here. I’m sorry, and the more we stay here and talk about it, the longer Spencer is with Tobias, he’s running out of time.”

I stepped away from his harsh stare and got into the car Derek was driving.

I didn’t even care that I just talked back to Hotch. To my boss.

I had to be there to see if Spencer was all right.

Derek drove off, JJ in the passenger seat and me in the back. Hotch took Gideon and Emily in his car.

Our SUV along with Hotch’s car had its police sirens on and we were speeding off into the dark night of Georgia’s rural area.

I noticed Derek looking at me through the car mirror.

“Mari, about earlier, I’m sorry about what I said. It’s not your fault Reid was taken. I was just in the heat of the moment, and I got carried away. Can you forgive me?”

I didn’t tell him that I agreed with him, and I wasn’t at all upset with what he said.

I just said, “You’re fine. Tensions are high with everything going on- I get it. Apology accepted.” My thoughts a bit distracted with everything happening at the moment.

When we made it to Marshall Parish, there was a small shack I saw. I felt the tiniest bit of relief. We were going to get Spencer. Derek, JJ and I exited out the SUV and headed towards the shack. The officers surrounding me and the rest of the team as we slowly approached the dingy shack.

Morgan entered first, Gideon and Hotch following close by.

“FBI!”

I went in with my gun leveled up.

It was small on the inside like the outside. A wooden chair was in the middle of the room. There were handcuffs with leather restraints tied to the chair. They were left opened.

“Clear!”

He wasn’t here, I realized with dismay.

“Oh! What is that smell?” I heard Emily say.

My nose wrinkled when I began to breathe in the thick scent inside the hut. It smelled like rotten flesh.

I looked around the small place until I saw on the floor across from me was a gutted fish.

“Let’s spread out. They have to be on foot. Let’s go!” Hotch said.

The team and I rushed out the shack out onto the grounds of the cemetery. I took my mini flashlight out from my back pocket and held it out to light my way. The cemetery was unbelievably dark with the trees blocking a majority of the light from the moon. There were the echoes of animal sounds: owls, squirrels, and deer’s humming throughout the woods.

I followed behind my team, keeping my eyes on every pocket of darkness, on the off chance that Spencer was there. It did cross my mind that I was looking in every spot of the cemetery as if I were looking for a body.

I couldn’t think like that.... Spencer had to be alive, he had to be.

Just as I was getting out of my thoughts, a loud gunshot rang throughout the cemetery.

“Reid!”

“Over there!”

The team sped full ahead.

My feet slapped against the hard cold dirt, towards where the gunshot rang out. I was running alongside the team, careful of the divots in the patchy ground. It was a chilly night and I could see my breath as I panted.

There in the short distance, Spencer was there, kneeling over a person. I ran even faster. We reached him in a couple short seconds.

Hotch was the first to reach Spencer. The person under Spencer was Tobias, dead with a bullet hole in his chest. His eyes looking upward to the beautiful night sky.

Hotch grabbed Spencer, pulling him up to his feet. Emily helped him up on his other side.

He seemed to be struggling to stand up, relying more on his right leg, the one with a sock on.

“You all right?” Hotch asked Spencer.

“I knew you’d understand,” Spencer said in a broken voice. He gave Hotch a brief hug. After releasing his embrace, JJ went up to him and hugged him to her tightly.

I stayed back as the team hugged Spencer.

The team knew Spencer longer than I did so I let them give their hugs first. There was also the other reason why I was staying back away from Spencer.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Gideon said to Spencer.

We began to head out the cemetery. Gideon was helping Spencer walk out. I kept going forward at the same pace with Derek and JJ.

“Mari,” Derek began. He stopped me from moving forward. “Again, I’m sorry about yelling at you earlier.” He held me by my arms, looking into my eyes.

I placed my hand on his arm.

“Derek, it’s all fine. Please, I forgive you.”

Derek faltered slightly before he nodded. He pulled me forward in a hug and I returned it. We released our hold. He gave me one more look then walked back with the retreating group. I began to follow after him before looking back to Gideon and Spencer behind me. Gideon was standing by, also waiting. I looked past Gideon to see Spencer was leaning back over Tobias. Doing something? I couldn’t tell what.

I turned back around and walked out the eerie cemetery, shivering slightly from the chill I felt creeping in.

-

Spencer was taken to the hospital, coincidently also treated by the same doctor that tended to me.

Doctor Moon took another look at my arm to make sure I hadn’t overused it. He changed my wrappings and added more ointment to my injury.

This was the first time I got a good look at my arm, all stitched up. It was ugly. Definitely not pretty by any means. Seeing the elaborate twists and turns of the stitches now apart of my skin. The dog bite ran through a majority of my limb, encompassing the diameter of my forearm. The area around the main dog bite was an irritated pink color. Some of the dog’s teeth punctured holes into my skin which were already in the beginning stages of healing itself.

Spencer had for the most part, minor injuries with the exception of his head injury, which was only a minor concussion. Apparently, he was limping from Hankel hitting the back of his left foot with a paddle. The bottom of his foot was bruised, but not broken. His face was swollen and starting to turn black and purple from all the punches and hits he took from Hankel.

As for the drug Hankel forced Spencer to take: the dilaudid seemed to be exiting his body surely. Because Spencer only had dilaudid in his system for a short amount of time, he shouldn’t have any worries about any serious withdrawal symptoms to the drug.

The team and I were on the jet, flying back to Quantico. The majority of the team had fallen asleep the second the jet took off from the lack of sleep over us working hard on this case. Even though I was feeling tired I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to close my eyes just to see _her_ again after everything that happened. I didn’t want to sleep just on the off chance I see those dogs again either.

When I first made it onto the jet it was empty, and I was the first one there. I made my way to the seat in the corner, away from the other seats. I wanted to be alone.

I had my book pulled out, about to start reading, when I heard someone walking up the steps into the jet.

The person sat down in the chair in front of me. I looked up from the book in my hands.

It was Hotch.

_Uh, oh._

The last time we spoke, I’d talked back to him and disobeyed his orders of staying back so I could go help the team find Spencer.

“Hi,” I said, shyly.

“Sanchez, you know why I want to talk to you, yes?”

“Yes,” I said.

“You went with us to Marshall Parish against my orders that you’re to stay in the house at all times,” he said, plainly.

I cringed internally but I kept my face neutral. Definitely felt like a kid getting reprimanded by their parents.

“Yes,” I said.

“I can’t have my team doubt me.”

“I don’t doubt you,” I said. “I just needed to be there for Spencer.”

I continued.

“I was the last person he saw before he was abducted.”

Hotch didn’t miss a beat.

“You think it’s your fault he was taken.”

I didn’t try to deny it.

“Do _you_ think it’s my fault?” I asked him, instead of answering.

“It’s not about what I think,” he said.

“You’re my boss,” I said. “It should matter.”

Hotch took a moment to respond.

“I’ve been in the BAU for several years now, I know what it’s like to want to take responsibility for something that couldn’t be helped,” he said.

He continued.

“I like to look at it this way: if Reid hadn’t been taken, it could’ve been you. And I am sorry to say this, but I don’t know if it would be better a newbie agent be in a hostage situation because Reid was able to give us clues to help us find him. I don’t know if the outcome would’ve been the same if the roles were reversed. There is also the other outcome where _both_ of you could’ve been killed. Now, I already spoke to Reid of what happened. In all honesty he seems to be taking responsibility for why he was taken.”

I was looking at the ground, listening throughout Hotch’s speech. When he said the last part however, I looked back up at him, about to defend Spencer but he held his hand up to stop me from speaking.

“He told me he was the one who suggested to split up from you, is that correct?”

Slowly, I nodded my head.

“It isn’t your fault. And it isn’t even Reid’s fault. You need to realize that everything that happened to you both was all because of Tobias Hankel. If anything, I shouldn’t have had you go interview Hankel since this is only your third BAU case. I should’ve asked either JJ or Emily to go with Spencer instead.”

Hotch’s words eased my inner turmoil a bit.

“Okay. I understand,” I said to him. “I won’t disobey you again.”

“Sanchez, I didn’t say I was upset with you disregarding my orders. I understand why you did it. I just need you to understand that you shouldn’t feel any guilt about what happened. Okay?” he said.

“I got it,” I said. “Thank you, Hotch.”

I felt better knowing that Hotch wasn’t upset with me. He wanted me to not feel any sort of responsibility for what happened.

Hotch was a great boss.

“Do you have any kids?” I abruptly asked as Hotch began to rise from his seat.

He paused shortly and looked at me.

“A son,” he said.

“When I said you scare me sometimes back in Hankel’s house, I said that because when you talk in a serious tone of voice, I feel like I’m being lectured by my parents,” I told him.

For a brief second, one corner of Hotch’s lip turned up just a tad.

It was about 30 minutes into the flight, while I was reading in my seat, that I heard someone sit down in the chair in front of me, where Hotch sat previously. I looked up from my book.

It was Spencer.

I uncurled from my comfortable position.

“Hey,” I said.

“Uh, hey,” he rasped. His voice still sounded a bit raw. He changed out of his clothes he’d been wearing for the past couple days, and took a shower and cleaned himself up, but he still had an exhausted look to his eyes. He couldn’t sleep either.

“Did you want something?” I asked him. A bit awkwardly.

“I, uh.... I wanted to apologize,” he said.

I startled.

“Why?” _I should be apologizing._

Hotch just told me, not even an hour ago to not feel guilty about Spencer’s abduction, but here I was back to square one.

“I was the one who split us up. You didn’t want to, but I didn’t listen. I thought we could take him. And I’m sorry.”

“I should’ve gone with you and I didn’t, and you were the one that got _taken_ and _beaten_ -” I trailed off.

Spencer didn’t answer, he instead looked down at my left arm. He gestured to it.

“JJ told me you had to get stitches. Uh, does it hurt still?”

“No, not anymore. It’s just a little sore now,” I said. Spencer looked a little conflicted.

“If we’d stayed together maybe you wouldn’t have gotten attacked. I didn’t know there were dogs in the barn,” he said. He looked ashamed.

“I didn’t know either, Spencer,” I told him.

“I heard your screams,” he murmured.

“I rarely scream. Especially that loud,” I told him honestly. After the dog attack, my voice felt hoarse from screaming.

“I was running back to help you but, Tobias- Raphael- he,” Spencer broke off.

I nodded.

“Yeah, I know,” I sighed.

Spencer was looking at my arm again.

“Will it scar?”

I contemplated lying to him or avoiding the question, but I just told him the truth. That’s what I would want.

“Probably, yes.”

He bit his lip.

“I’m sorry,” his voice cracked.

“Spencer, please. I don’t care about scars. At least I’m alive,” I told him.

Spencer paused.

“I am too. So you don’t have to feel bad either,” he said, quietly.

I gave him a humorless smile.

“I guess we both have trouble with not feeling guilty for things we don’t have any control over.”

I recalled Hotch and I’s conversation from earlier.

“Here,” I said. I held my fist out. “Let’s agree that we won’t feel guilty about this case anymore, okay?”

Spencer took a moment to think on what I said. He nodded; his eyes lowered to my forward fist. I noticed he was staring in slight confusion at my hand.

I brought my hand back to my side.

“It’s okay. Deal?” I said.

A small smile graced his face.

“Okay,” he said.

“Cool,” I said. I went to grab my book I pushed aside and begun to crack it open to the page I last left it open.

“Uhh,” Spencer cleared his throat.

I raised my eyes up to him.

Now in his hand was the mini chess set we used back on the jet ride home after Golconda.

“If you want to- you- you don’t have to if you just want to read- I understand,” he said swiftly.

I put my book back into my travel bag. 

“Did you want to go first or me?”

“You can choose,” Spencer said.

I quirked my lips, and like after the case in Golconda, we played the game of chess again and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Spence. I felt sad seeing him get tortured a lot in this ep so I could write this chapter. How did you feel about Mari's guilt over Spence getting taken? Mari and Spencer's little moment at the end? 
> 
> For those who don’t know this episode, there is a scene with JJ and Derek where JJ asked Derek if he was upset she ‘let’ Spencer get taken. He kinda brushed it off but I feel like Derek was a little upset and decided to not say anything. I took inspiration from that scene and made Derek a bit of an asshole because people act irrationally in stressful situations like having your best friend get kidnapped.


	12. Concealing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter follows Season 2, episode 16: Fear and Loathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read this chapter, please know I 100% stand by the BlackLivesMatter movement. I am in no way supporting racism or systematic racism as it is a very real thing especially back in 2007 when this episode aired. I needed to state this in light of recent events in the U.S. If you do not like what I support, then I encourage you to leave.
> 
> This is not an airport; you don’t need to announce your departure, just leave quietly and politely please. 
> 
> Thank you.

It was the weekend and I was wearing an old, paint-stained denim blue overalls.

Earlier today before the sun rose, I drove to the nearest craft store and bought a bunch of clay, paints and canvasses to begin my first day of art therapy.

I went and did more research into art therapy. A common theme I saw pop up was that people usually went to see art therapists so their progress could be observed. I did _not_ want to see a therapist and talk about my feelings to them. It was always uncomfortable for me to open up and talk to a stranger about my feelings. I knew that wasn’t for me from past experiences.

So instead, I decided to try out art therapy on my own at home. There was a small room in my apartment that was also known as my ‘art room’. Back when I lived in my parent’s house, I would have to paint outside on my backyard porch, or when the weather was bad I’d have to paint down in the basement. But now that I had my own apartment I had my own room to make a mess of.

There were several finished and unfinished canvases resting against the eggshell colored walls. Inside a small closet, I stashed the rest of my art work and supplies in. A tiny desk where I did most of my drawings and paintings rested in the corner. Other than that, this room was pretty empty.

I put on music on my iPod to listen to, so I wouldn’t have to draw and paint in complete silence. I needed some type of sound in the background. I had my favorites like [Shakira](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dsp_8Lm1eSk), [Selena](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RKGbjJarMeA), and [Christina Aguilera](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kIDWgqDBNXA) on shuffle.

_Should I sculpt the clay and make a sculpture? Maybe I should draw something and paint it on the canvas later._

I took a pottery class in college as well as other art classes like painting.

Several clay pots and plates still unfinished from my art classes were still laying around in my art room. I haven’t gotten around to painting them. Might as well start now.

I took out a paintbrush and began to paint a couple of the clay plates and pots. I stuck to cool tones to create a beautiful gradient. A mirage of blues, grays and purples.

Painting them took around two hours to complete. It didn’t feel like two hours passed though; the time seemed to go by as I painted on the clay pieces with my favorite songs blasting in the background. While I waited for the pottery to finish drying, I set my eyes on the blank canvasses laying on the ground. I thought on it for a second before I picked one up and set it on my desk.

I began to draw on it, not thinking too much about what I was drawing. I just used a pencil to begin a light sketch so I can paint later. My mind went blank as I idly glided the pencil in my hand across the canvas.

 _I was drawing eyes,_ I realized.

Blue eyes. That was the color of the eyes of the blonde woman in the trailer.

I began to create her eye shape, her eyelids and eyelashes. After sketching the outline of her eyes I used the same cool toned paints that were already out to paint her eyes.

Through the dilation of her eyes, the color was the barely visible, but I now recall that they were the palest shade of blue. Almost gray.

I started mixing the blue paints I had to create the perfect light shade of blue for her eyes.

It took about an hour to create the painting of her eyes.

It was a simple [painting](https://malindaprudhomme.com/uploads/3/5/8/7/3587976/6106564_orig.jpg). Light blue eyes, dilated pupils and pale lashes.

The eyes were staring out at me like they were back in the trailer.

Seeing this should’ve been startling since these eyes are the same exact eyes that have been haunting my nights endlessly. But for some reason putting what I’ve been going through on this canvas was strangely cathartic.

I moved onto another canvas and began to draw another image.

I was drawing dogs. Yes, those dogs back in the barn, but also all different breeds of dogs. Beagle’s, Shiba’s, Chihuahua’s, and my favorite dog breed: Labrador retrievers. The canvas was starting to look like a dog sanctuary.

I smiled at the image.

The process of spending this entire day to do what I love: art, helped take my mind off of everything that happened during my time at the BAU.

That night I actually had a decent night sleep. It wasn’t perfect, but I felt well-rested the next morning, something I haven’t had in what felt like years.

-

“Hey, chica,” Derek said to me, as I entered the BAU. In my hand was a plastic bag.

“Hola, chico,” I smiled at him.

“How’s the arm looking?” He gestured to my wrapped-up left arm.

“It’s fine. Doesn’t hurt anymore.”

I had my stitches in still. The doctor said I could take them out in a couple weeks. The dog bite was healing well. My brown skin was starting to get its color back and lose the pinkness. As well as the other tiny scratches and bite marks on the rest of my body.

“Oh, that’s good!” Emily quipped from her desk. She was drinking coffee from a BAU mug.

“Where’s Penelope?” I asked them.

“She should be in her ‘lair’,” Emily laughed. “Why?”

“I wanted to give you these. I made them over the weekend.”

I pulled out two flower pots, and one plate from the plastic bag. All were cool-toned, painted in various tones of blues, grays, and purples.

Emily gasped.

“Oh my god, Mari, these are beautiful,” she marveled.

I smiled at her. “Thanks.”

“Wow. They look good. I didn’t know you could paint,” Derek said.

“I spent a couple hours making them,” I said. “I’ve always loved art.”

Emily took one pot with the bluer tone into her hands. “This is mine,” she announced.

“Do you want the other pot?” I asked Derek.

“Nah. JJ will love that,” he said.

“I think Penelope would prefer the dish anyway,” I said. I grabbed the plastic bag and made a mental note to myself to give Penelope and JJ their gifts sometime today.

I heard someone stepping up somewhere behind me. I turned around to see who it was.

Spencer.

We haven’t talked since the jet ride back to Quantico. We never gave each other our phone numbers, so I didn’t have the chance to contact him over the weekend to see how he was doing. I mean, I wouldn’t expect him to be back to his old self, but it would’ve been nice to check in and make sure he was fine and all.

“Hey,” I said to him.

He gave me a tiny smile.

“Hey,” he said. His face was still a bit bruised, but the swelling has gone down.

“You feeling okay?” I asked, a little hesitant.

“Yeah,” he said. He pointed to my left arm. “Your arm okay?”

“Yes, it’s completely fine. Thank you,” I said to Spencer. I wanted to say more but Hotch approached us from his office.

“Conference room in five minutes, please?” he said to all of us.

“Let’s go,” Derek said.

Another case.

I made my way to the conference room, following behind Derek. Gideon, and JJ were already in the room.

I sat down in the seat next to Derek. The rest of the team settled into the table of the conference room.

JJ turned on the monitor and began to speak. “Sandra Davis, 16-years-old.” On the monitor, there was a video of a young girl singing on stage. “This is her singing at her high school talent show a month ago.”

Oh, my. She was so young. Only 16-years-old.

I’m twenty-five and I couldn’t imagine dying at the age of sixteen. I still haven’t lived my life yet and haven’t done all the things on my bucket list.

“This is her on-again, off-again boyfriend: Ken Newcombe, ” JJ continued. A picture appeared beside the video of Sandra, of a young brown-haired man.

“Their bodies were found in a park. Near the male victim’s car in Groton, an affluent, mostly white suburb of New York city in Westchester county. It’s the third of three killings believed to be a series of hate crimes,” JJ said.

“Hate crimes?” Emily spoke up.

“The first two victims were Keisha Andrews, 15. And Vickie Williams, 17,” Hotch said. Two more pictures appeared on the monitor.

Two black teenage girls.

“They disappeared from their homes in central Westchester one night. Their bodies were found in a wooded area in the southern part of the county near the city,” Hotch said.

I looked at the victim photos now placed on the table.

On one of the girls, Keisha, was a swastika spray-painted across her face. She was laid down on the ground amongst the leaves that covered her hair and clothes.

 _So, it was a hate crime,_ I observed.

“Strangled, beaten, stabbed,” Gideon said.

JJ showed pictures of the other two girls also having swastikas painted on their faces up on the monitor.

“What about this couple? How were their bodies found?” Derek asked JJ.

“Another swastika. This one on the boyfriend’s car.” A picture taken of the boyfriend’s car, a small blue car, the same swastika spray-painted on it, but also the word ‘stop’ next to it.

“It’s a different victimology,” Emily said.

Yeah, this time the unsub killed a man. A white man.

“Maybe just an escalation,” Derek said.

“Or a different killer,” Gideon noted.

“And it doesn’t end there,” Hotch said. “Yesterday, an African American community leader, Reverend Williams, decided to take this on as a political issue. Racial hate in the suburbs.”

A video began to play on the monitor. An older man was speaking amongst several news reporters. He was heatedly speaking.

“-What we are seeing is pure apathy. Black kids are getting killed and the police are doing nothing to stop it. When will these racists be confronted?” Reverend Williams asked to the reporters in front of him.

I chewed the inside of my cheek.

As a Mexican immigrant, and woman of color, I definitely didn’t have the same advantages in the U.S as a white man would. Racism and systematic racism was real. I understood why people were upset with it. I am as well. It was unfortunately a very real problem in the U.S. However, in this case, the speech Reverend Williams was spreading on the news _could_ cause even more damage to the investigation and incite more violence.

“Apparently in response to Reverend Williams muckraking, a black kid was beaten on the streets of Groton this afternoon. Connecticut neo-Nazi group called the White Stallions claimed responsibility,” JJ said.

I let out a sigh.

There it was.

_Why did neo-Nazi groups still exist? And up in Connecticut? I didn’t know there were even any in Connecticut._

“There are neo-Nazi groups in Connecticut?” Emily asked. I looked over across the table at her.

It’s like we have the same brain.

“The mayor of Groton called me this morning, frantic. He’s desperate to solve these crimes before it escalates even more,” JJ was saying.

Race wars were never good.

“What are the racial demographics of Groton?” I asked JJ.

“Population 42,000. Eight percent black,” she said.

“I’d say the mayor has reason to be worried. If it doesn’t stop soon, it could flare up,” Gideon said.

“We’re leaving for Groton. Wheel’s up in thirty,” Hotch told us.

I got up to leave the table as the others were getting up, and as I was getting up from my seat, out of the corner of my eyes I saw Spencer still in his chair, not moving to get up. He looked troubled.

Distracted.

I walked over to him.

“Hey,” I said. “You okay?”

Spencer looked up at me, startled by my sudden presence close by him.

“I’m sorry?” he said, his eyes snapping up to mine.

“Are you okay?” I asked him again.

“Yeah, of course I am. Let’s go to the jet,” he stood up suddenly and grabbed his brown leather messenger bag I’ve seen him carry before and left the conference room.

I pursed my lips.

Clearly Spencer wasn’t doing as good as he said he was. I know right after Golconda I wasn’t. After Golconda I didn’t want the team to know how I really was either. I didn’t want to bother them with how I was feeling. And this past weekend, I didn’t go see an art therapist for the same reason. Spencer and I were doing the same thing.

Concealing our emotions from those around us.

-

“Hey. This is weird. There are traces of GHB found in the first two victims. But no sign of sexual assault. So... why would the unsub use a date-rape drug to commit a hate crime?” Emily asked.

We were all on the jet. Before leaving the BAU, I gave JJ and Penelope their gifts: Penelope the dish, and JJ the flower pot, which they adored.

We were already halfway to New York. I really liked New York. I haven’t been back in about a year, and this time it wasn’t to watch the ball drop for New Years, it was for a murder case that was looking to be a hate crime.

Back at the DEA, a lot of the days was just working at my desk doing paperwork, with the occasional traveling to different states in the U.S that had critical drug-related matters. I did enjoy traveling however, and on the BAU jet even though it was for work reasons, I absolutely loved the feeling of being in the air. The sky looked so beautiful, even when the weather wasn’t so great. I stretched out my right knee in front of me as far as I could until I heard my bones crack. It was feeling extra stiff today. Must be the air pressure.

“Maybe he wants to weaken them so they can’t fight back,” Spencer said. It was the first thing he said while on the jet. He looked better than in the conference room, but noticeably quieter. He wasn’t giving his usual spiel of random facts he kept in his head.

“But there was no GHB of the victims of the double homicide,” Emily said to him.

“There’s a lot that’s different about the double homicide,” Derek said.

“The question is why,” Hotch said under his breath. He was looking into the files of the case.

“All right, we just got new information. A few weeks before the murder of Sandra Davis and Ken Newcombe, a threatening letter was delivered to Sandra Davis’ door. She showed it to her parents who then notified the police. The police never figured out who wrote it,” JJ said, returning from the mini kitchen area. In her hands I glimpsed that she held a print out of what seemed to be the letter Sandra Davis received.

Spencer held his hand out to accept the paper from JJ.

He read the letter aloud to us.

“We see Ken with you, and it makes us sick. Take care to stop this now or you will pay. If you tell anyone about this you will pay,” Spencer recited to us. My brows drew together as I took in what Spencer read.

“Strange. Doesn’t seem real,” Spencer muttered right after reading the letter.

_It doesn’t. The language seemed childish or almost... cartoonish._

“What do you mean?” JJ asked Spencer.

“First of all, the use of ‘we’ in a threat this direct is almost always bogus,” Spencer explained.

“One individual trying to diffuse the responsibility,” Emily chimed in.

“Also the message itself seems contradictory,” Spencer noted. “On the one hand, ‘take care to stop this now, or you will pay?’ presumably, they want them to stop seeing each other. But then, on the other hand, they don’t want them to go public with it. ‘If you tell anyone about this, you will pay.’”

“The point of hate crimes is to increase publicity, not decrease it. It’s like terrorism,” Hotch said.

But the author is trying to keep the note a secret.

“An effective threat let’s everyone know that they’re in danger if they do this behavior. The author would want Sandra to tell people about the note,” Spencer said.

“Doesn’t sound like a guy who’s actually prepared to kill,” JJ said.

“Actually, it... doesn’t sound like a guy at all,” Spencer said, his eyes back on the paper. ‘Take care to stop’ implies empathy. ‘Take care?’ Males don’t use this type of language, especially when they’re trained to threaten somebody. This message is certainly written by a female, and based on the lack of psychological sophistication, I’d say it’s most likely an adolescent,” he said.

The writing wasn’t mature enough to be made by an adult. It had to be written by a juvenile. But who?

“You think a girl killed these kids?” JJ asked Spencer in skepticism.

“I think a girl wrote this note.”

“Let’s call that mystery number one,” Gideon said.

“You got a number two?” Hotch asked him.

“Maybe. Says here the autopsy on Sandra Davis was inconclusive.”

I looked into the reports of the autopsy we were given.

“She suffered blunt force trauma to the face, she had some bruising around her neck. Cause of death is still unclear. Coroner’s still working on it,” JJ said.

“A lot of questions. Let’s get started on some answers,” Hotch said.

We were only ten minutes away from Westchester county, New York.

I glanced back at Spencer. He still held that distracted look in his eyes.

The team and I went off into the Black SUV’s that were waiting for us when we landed, with the exception of Spencer. Hotch sent him to retrieve the coroner’s report.

“How’s your arm?” Hotch had asked me before we exited the SUV’s.

“It’s fine. My stitches are going to be removed in a couple weeks.”

“That’s good. I’m glad to hear,” he said.

I felt that there was a ‘but’ coming.

“But you know you should still take it easy this week, right?”

“Don’t worry. I will,” I promised him. I wanted these stiches to be removed as soon as possible, so I planned to play it safe.

He gave me a firm nod as we headed to the police station of Groton.

“....We haven’t had a murder here in two years, you understand,” Mayor Hughes was saying. “This was way above our heads. So we put Rick in charge,” he said, looking to Detective Rick Ware from the state police department. A tall, dark skinned man in his forties.

“These are Agents Gideon, Hotchner, Morgan, Prentiss, and Sanchez,” JJ said, introducing us to the mayor and Detective Ware.

“I have to say that what’s been happening here the last few weeks is.... it’s just hard to fathom. I mean, we’re thirty minutes from the city,” Mayor Hughes said.

“What do you mean?” Hotch asked him.

“Well, this isn’t the south. For the most part, these are sophisticated New Yorkers,” Detective Ware said.

“Are you saying you don’t think this is a race issue?” Derek asked him.

“All we’re saying is whatever happened here is way out of the norm for this community. I wouldn’t want you entering this investigation under assumptions that... well, aren’t true.”

 _There is always more to the picture,_ I thought, narrowing of my eyes.

“Fact is, we don’t know what this is about yet,” Gideon told him.

“We need to concentrate on the double murder and make sure that it’s the same killer, first of all,” Hotch said.

“You mean there could be more than one?” Mayor Hughes asked him.

“We don’t know that yet,” Derek said. “All we do know is the threat sent to Sandra Davis was written by an adolescent girl.”

“You can tell all that just from half a page of notes?” Detective Ware asked.

“It’s pretty straightforward profiling.”

A police officer was standing next to Detective Ware. He suddenly held a worried look on his face.

Gideon also noticed the officer’s behavior. “Is there a problem, officer?”

“Uh, there was a girl that we suspected at first, but then we talked to her and dismissed her,” the police officer said.

“I’d like to meet her,” Derek said.

“I think it’s a waste of time,” Detective Ware said.

“I’d like to decide that for myself.”

It was pretty clear that Detective Ware evidently didn’t find that meeting the girl would be significant to our case.

“Come with me,” Detective Ware finally said.

Derek and Emily went forward with the detective.

“Sanchez,” Hotch said. I looked to Hotch at hearing my name being called. “Go with them,” he said with a nod in their retreating direction.

“Okay,” I nodded, and caught up with Derek, Emily and the detective. We headed into the police station, going past the other officers walking around inside.

Detective Ware began to speak.

“Sandra showed us the note two weeks before she was killed. We asked around the school for who might have a grudge against Sandra and Ken. The only girl’s name that came up was Tonya Mathis. Rumor was Ken dumped her for Sandra, although Ken told me Tonya was never his girlfriend.”

“You said you talked to Tonya about the note. What’d she say?” Derek asked.

“She swore up and down she had nothing to do with it. I... find it pretty hard to believe she’d write a racist note.”

We stopped at the door to the interrogation room.

“Why?” I asked him.

He just sent us a look. Then he opened the door behind him.

“See for yourself.”

Emily entered first, then Derek and me.

“That’s Tonya?” I heard Emily say.

I didn’t see Tonya through the glass until I stepped up next to Emily.

The girl in front of us was black, and we were looking for a person who sent a racist note to a black person.

“Oh,” I said.

“Leave her in there for a few minutes,” Derek said.

“You’re gonna make a 17-year-old sweat?” Detective Ware asked.

Derek looked over at the detective for a second.

“I want to scare the hell out of her,” he said. Honesty in his tone.

Leaving a suspect in the interrogation room alone for a long time will get their nerves running. Especially a young high school girl being questioned as a murder suspect by the FBI. I looked through the glass back at Tonya. Her face didn’t betray any outright nerves, but she looked like she was trying to keep her cool. She was playing with her fingers non-stop.

“Mari,” Emily said.

“Hmm?”

“I think you should go in there with Morgan.”

“Uh, okay. Why?” I asked her.

I’ve done interrogations before. With drug criminals, junkies, lawyers, or other suspects in connection to drugs, so I wasn’t _exactly_ new to interrogating suspects in custody.

“We’re going to do what’s called: good cop, bad cop; you’ve done that before at the DEA, right?” Derek asked me.

“Yes.”

“You’re going to be good cop, Derek will be bad cop,” Emily said.

“You’re closer to Tonya’s age, so she might be able to open up and have a better rapport with you than Prentiss,” Derek told me.

“Okay, got it,” I said.

I’ve been told countless times in my adult life that I can still ‘pass’ as a teenager.

I looked back into the interrogation room with Tonya sitting at the table.

_Seventeen._

I remember when I was seventeen. I was a dumb piece of shit. I thought I was already an adult and starting rebelling which pissed my mother and father off so much before I even left for college.

Yeah, definitely don’t miss my teenage years.

After a couple minutes, Derek shifted and moved towards the door into the interrogation room, I followed after him, he held the door open for me.

“Hello, Tonya. I’m Agent Morgan, this is Agent Sanchez. We’re with the FBI,” Derek introduced us to the 17-year-old.

“F.B.I?” Tonya asked incredulously.

“I’m gonna get right to the point.”

Derek knelt down to Tonya’s level and held the printout of the letter in front of her face. I stayed back behind the table and kept my face neutral. Derek and I went over our plan of action for interrogating Tonya while waiting her out behind the glass.

“Writing a threat like this? It’s a federal crime.”

Tonya held an impassive expression.

“I told him I didn’t write that note,” she said.

“Oh, I know what you told him. But this is not the principal’s office, you understand? The people you threatened are dead,” Derek said in a serious tone.

“I didn’t kill anybody,” Tonya objected, shocked at what Derek said to her.

“I know that,” I interrupted, gently. She turned her gaze from Derek to me.

_When Tonya begins to panic, you enter into the conversation and empathize with her._

“I got it,” I said to Derek. I tapped my hand on his arm. He slowly went upright from his bent over position over the table.

“We need to know why you wrote that note,” I said to Tonya. I sat down onto the metal chair across from Tonya.

She didn’t say anything.

“You were angry with Ken,” I continued. “Because he didn’t acknowledge you. I understand,” I shrugged my shoulders. “He didn’t admit that you were his girlfriend.”

“I was his girlfriend,” she said.

“Yeah. What about Sandra? She’s the one who got the note. Why were you angry with her, Tonya?” I asked her.

Tonya looked away, twisting her lip. She didn’t answer.

“This isn’t just about her going with Ken, is it Tonya?”

She still didn’t answer, not looking at me, but I kept my eyes on her the whole time.

“That note says ‘we’. You wanted to make it look like other people were in on it. Like the whole town was against her. Why?”

I continued. “Is that the way she made you feel? Like everybody was against you?”

I kept looking at Tonya.

She finally let out a breath and her whole body loosened from tension.

“It was that stupid talent show,” she admitted.

“What talent show?” Derek asked her.

“I was just as good as her.”

Tonya turned to me, and I gave her a nod of encouragement.

_You can confide in me._

“She was just this quiet little girl who nobody liked. Then she sings, and suddenly she’s all little miss popular and ken’s all over her. It’s not fair,” she said.

“So, Tonya,” Derek began. He leaned back over the metal table towards Tonya. “Look at me. You wrote this note for revenge, didn’t you?” Derek asked.

Tonya started to break down into tears.

“I know it was stupid. But I just wanted to scare them,” she sniveled. “I’m sorry.”

She sobbed louder.

I looked over to my left at Derek. His face was dismissive.

I turned back to Tonya, slightly hesitating before placing a comforting hand on top of hers.

She took my hand and held it tightly, weeping harder.

Derek straightened and turned to leave the room.

_Tonya wrote the letter, but she didn’t kill them. That was clear. She was just a kid._

I held her hand for a couple more seconds, the only sound in the room was our combined breathing and her quieting sobs.

I lightly cleared my throat.

She looked up from the crook of her elbow.

“I know you didn’t kill anyone. I’ll let them know. Don’t worry,” I said to her as delicately as I could.

“Okay,” she said. She was more docile.

I left the interrogation room and walked out into the open area of the police station. At our work station, most of the team was there. A bulletin board with pinned pictures of the case. Derek was talking to Hotch probably telling him what we learned from Tonya. She wrote the letter, but she didn’t murder anyone.

I sat down in a chair next to Emily.

“You did good back there, Agent Sanchez,” Emily said.

I smiled at her. “Thanks.”

I looked around the station with someone in mind.

“Spencer isn’t back yet?” I asked Emily.

“No, I haven’t seen him,” she said.

_Hm. Is it taking long to get the coroner’s report?_

“Hotch and Gideon just came back from the crime scene. They discovered the unsub shot Ken first, then he chased down Sandra and beat and strangled her. Judging by the way Sandra was overdressed and Ken wasn’t, they weren’t on a date together. She had a date with the unsub,” Emily said.

“A date with the unsub?” I mused. So Ken was unexpected and wasn’t meant to be there. Wrong place, wrong time.

“Anybody seen Reid? Where’s Reid?” Hotch asked us at the table.

_I haven’t seen him._

_I don’t know._

Then a soft rush of footsteps suddenly came from behind me.

“Here’s the coroner’s report.”

Spencer handed the report to Hotch. He rushed to sit down in a chair at the table, holding a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked a bit paler than usual.

“Victim had been beaten so extensively; the cause of death was indeterminate. Post-mortem stab wounds were also discovered,” Hotch read out the report.

I twisted my attention away from Spencer to what Hotch said. “Post-mortem stabs?”

“What,” Detective Ware asked at his side of the table, looking at our transformed expressions.

“Post-mortem stab wounds almost always indicate sexual homicide,” Hotch explained.

Sexual offenders also mostly kill victims of their own race.

“Uh,” Spencer started. “This is also a fairly extreme overkill, which is markedly different from the other two girls.”

“So you’re saying this was a different killer,” Detective Ware asked.

“No, we’re saying if it was the same killer, the overkill indicates he didn’t get what he wanted from someone...” Hotch explained.

“What he wanted?” the detective asked.

“Sexual offenders kill for sexual needs. And in this case, there’s no sign of sexual assault on his victims. That tells us he probably fetishizes. Takes some souvenir from his victims that he uses to get off,” Derek explained.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it doesn’t sound like the M.O of a hate crime.”

“No, we’re pretty certain that hate wasn’t the primary motive at all,” said Hotch.

“He has a specific physical type and he tries to cover his tracks,” Emily said.

“He is a serial killer,” Gideon stated plainly.

The small tv set the police station owned was turned on. Reverend Williams was making another speech of systematic racism. How ‘the FBI only arrived after a white boy was killed’ and they must protect themselves.

“Explain this to me,” Detective Ware began. “The swastikas on the bodies. What do they mean?”

“They’re a distraction. Perhaps the killer isn’t driven by hate, but wants us to think so, so we won’t guess his real motive, which is serial sexual homicide,” Hotch explained to the detective.

“I’m confident the unsub’s from this county. He knew the kind of hysteria that would flare up from these swastikas. Reverend Williams took the bait,” Gideon said to us.

“JJ is trying to buy us some time. She’s talking to the reverend to see if he’ll cool his rhetoric a little bit,” Hotch said.

Ah, so that’s where she is. I didn’t see her when I first came out of the interrogation room.

“Hate crimes are political. If we’re right, this was personal,” Gideon was saying.

“Well, we need to confirm that the double homicide is linked to the first two murders.”

“We need to speak to the families of the victims,” Derek said.

“Morgan, you and Reid come with me to talk to Sandra Davis’ family,” Gideon said. Spencer and Derek got up from the table and left with Gideon.

“The rest of you will go into the backgrounds of the first two victims,” Hotch said.

We were dismissed to do our tasks.

I joined Emily where she was sitting in the chair at the corner of the table.

“Let’s call Garcia,” she said to me.

“Hello, my pets, what do you need from me?” Penelope’s voice rang out in the station.

“Hey, amiga. We need you to look into the first two victims records. High school records,” I said.

“On it.”

A couple of keyboard strokes later...

“Okay... Keisha Andrews is a straight A student; no referrals, detentions, suspensions, and her criminal records are clean as well. Vickie Williams: A/B honor roll, never missed a day of school, same with Keisha Andrews she has no criminal records,” Penelope read out to us.

So two teenage girls with no criminal records have nothing in common other than being excellent students in high school. Low-risk victims if I’ve ever heard of them.

“Garcia, can you see if they were in any extracurricular activities? Clubs?” Emily asked.

“Uh, no?” she said in uncertainty.

“Did either girl go to church?” I asked her.

“Hmm, Vickie did. It says she was in the church choir,” Penelope offered.

“And Keisha?” Emily asked. She began writing it down in a notepad.

“Uhh, zilch.”

“Was Keisha in a choir or something like Vickie?” I asked.

A second passed.

“Not a choir, mon ami but she _was_ in a band.”

I turned to Emily.

“Thanks, Garcia. Mari, I’m gonna get Hotch and call the girl’s families, see if they can confirm if the girl’s passions were in fact singing.” Emily got up and left the table.

“Thank you, Penelope,” I said.

“Are you leaving me so soon, mon ami?”

I didn’t have much to do other than wait for Emily to return after calling the families.

“Is that French for friend?” I asked Penelope.

“Oui, mon ami. I took French in Le school,” Penelope said in an overly exaggerated French accent.

I snorted.

“You didn’t take Spanish, considering your last name?” I asked her.

“Hey, listen here, you beautiful Mexican woman, I only got my last name from my step-father adopting me when I was young, and he never taught me Spanish, so blame Emilio Garcia, _not_ me.”

“Your step-dad’s name is Emilio?” I asked.

“Yep,” Penelope said, popping the P.

“That’s my brother’s middle name,” I told her.

“Oh, I didn’t know you had a brother,” Penelope said, surprised.

“Yeah, he’s younger than me. He’s turning twelve next month.”

_I still haven’t found a birthday gift for him yet. I’d need to start looking soon._

“See- I would’ve known that if I’d remembered to look through your files, but I didn’t because I kept forgetting.”

Wait, hold on.

“You were going to look through my files?” I asked her.

“Uh-“ Penelope paused. “Am I going to be in trouble if I’m honest?”

“I prefer the truth,” I said.

“Well, then, I guess yes.... But not because I didn’t like you or anything!” she insisted fervently. “I have a habit to research everyone I meet. Especially those who unexpectedly show up as a new member of our team.”

“Well, I guess that makes me feel better.”

“I won’t ever look into your files, I promise. Scouts honor,” she said.

“How much should I bet you’ve never been a scout in your life?” I said.

“Let’s not dwell on that,” she said quickly. “Back to the topic of Spanish, maybe you could teach me.”

“Maybe,” I mused. “Let’s start off with you pronouncing your last name the right way.”

“Garcia,” I said, rolling the R.

“Garcia,” Penelope repeated, in a hesitant but still really good pronunciation.

“Not bad,” I mused.

Emily was returning to the table.

That was quick.

“Hey, _Garcia_. I gotta go now,” I told her.

“Oui, P.G out.”

I hung the phone of the police station up.

“Hey, so anything?” I asked Emily.

She gave me a look. “We were right. They both loved singing.”

-

“We dug up everything on the first two victims, and basically these girls were good students who stayed out of trouble. And we found something else. They both liked to sing. One in church, and one in a band. Their parents said that this was their passion,” Hotch said.

“Just like Sandra Davis,” Derek said.

“African-American girls between the ages of 15-17 who like to sing. That’s a pretty specific type. It sounds like the same unsub to me,” Emily said.

“They both liked to sing. That could be a part of his M.O. Part of his ruse,” I offered.

An officer came into the room. “Another girl went missing. Naomi Dade. 16 years old.”

Damn it.

“When?” Hotch demanded.

“Last night.”

“Why are we just finding out about it now?” Gideon asked.

“First victims weren’t found for a couple days, there’s a chance she’s still alive,” Hotch said calmly.

“Let’s get to the profile before it’s too late,” Gideon told us.

We moved into the main room of the police station, to the area with police officers roaming around. JJ was there, sitting at a desk. Spencer was also at a desk.

“We’re giving the profile,” Derek said to Spencer.

Spencer nodded. I noticed once more he wasn’t talking as much as he normally did.

He was still recovering from Tobias Hankel. I didn’t have time to talk to him alone, but even if I did, I also didn’t have the confidence to talk to him. Everyone deals with trauma in their own way. And I’d be a hypocrite if I forced him to open up to me when I couldn’t even do the same.

Hotch began to speak, so I turned my attention away from Spencer to Hotch.

“Suspect we’re looking for is a black male, statistically between the ages of 20 and 35. We know he’s black because of his victims. Sexually motivated killers almost always kill within their own race.”

The officers around us were writing everything Hotch said in their notepads.

“The victims he’s chosen are _good_ girls. They’re good students. No behavioral problems. They’re what we call ‘low-risk,’” Derek said.

“And the lower the risk of the victim, the higher the intelligence of the unsub,” Emily said.

“Guy’s a smooth talker,” Gideon began to speak. “Makes people feel at ease. Gains their confidence. You’d be amazed what these guys can talk people to.”

Spencer began to speak next. “Jeffery Dahmer was once pulled over by police officers for driving over the center line. He had a garbage bag full of body parts in the backseat of his car, but he was so calm and so self-assured, that he convinced the officers not to look in the bag. He then went on to kill at least fifteen more people.”

“This guy’s a hustler. He may not have a lot of education, but he knows how to treat impressionable young girls,” Hotch said. “Victor Paleologus used to troll shopping malls pretending to be a movie producer. He told Kristie Johnson he could get her an audition for a James Bond movie. And that was the last time she was ever seen alive.”

Victor Paleologus. That case was only four years ago, during my final year of college. I remember when Kristie’s body was found the whole Criminology department was buzzing about the news.

“We think that because all these girls are singers,” Hotch spoke again. “That the unsub may be connected in some way to the recording industry.”

“We know the unsub has a vehicle. Big enough to transport a body. It’s clean. It’s not too old. It’s nice enough to make a girl feel comfortable inside, but it’s not flashy. This is not a guy who wants to attract attention to himself,” Derek explained to the officers.

“Probably a large, dark sedan,” Hotch said.

“We recommend putting this profile on the news, the paper, anywhere it might be seen by the people in this town,” JJ said.

“This guy’s ruse didn’t work on everybody. Someone out there is at least one woman who didn’t fall for his game, and... that’s who we need to find,” Derek said.

“The key to this unsub’s psychology is the souvenir he takes. We don’t know what it is, but... we know that once he has it, his victim then becomes disposable, and that’s when he kills her,” Hotch said.

A souvenir like a bracelet, necklace, or any other jewelry was usually the kind of souvenirs sexual offenders take from their victims, but not exclusively.

“The unsub’s ritual was interrupted when he killed Sandra Davis. We don’t believe he was able to take a souvenir from her. We think he may revisit her house or any place she may have frequented,” Gideon said.

“We recommend surveillance in locations where the unsub might approach young girls,” Hotch said.

Then he looked at me and gave me a look. He wanted me to speak next.

“Uh, locations like churches, high schools, libraries, and coffee shops,” I said to the listening officers.

“Stick with the community,” Gideon said. “The people of this county should be able to offer some good leads. Thanks a lot. Good luck.”

Gideon straightened from where he was sitting against a desk and dismissed the officers.

_Will community vigilance be enough? Definitely not._

I could see that Emily definitely didn’t think so, judging by the look on her face.

A commotion was cumulating to my right from a couple of the officers and Mayor Hughes who just arrived.

“What’s the problem?” Hotch asked the mayor.

“Well, the problem is I would have to be crazy to release this profile to the public,” Mayor Hughes said.

“What are you talking about?” Derek asked him, stepping up closer.

“Reverend Williams has already stirred up enough trouble by choosing to make this town a soapbox for his anti-racism campaign. What do you think is going to happen if I go to the press and tell them the killer is black?”

I inhaled in a quick breath. He’s not wrong. It won’t look good to the community, there will be public outcry.

“Hey. The best way to stop all this is to find the killer. And we just gave you the best way to do that,” Derek told him.

“Right. By telling everybody to look out for an anonymous black man?” The mayor asked Derek. “They’re going to say that’s racial profiling.”

“It’s not racial profiling,” Gideon insisted. “Racial profiling is targeting suspects because of their race. We gave you a complete profile which includes race.”

The mayor wasn’t convinced.

“All right, look. The point is I’ve never even heard of a black serial killer. And neither will the African Americans in this community _already_ upset by what’s been happening here.”

“You can believe in black serial killers or not, but the fact is they do exist,” Hotch said to the mayor. “And it’s only a matter of time before he kills another girl.”

“All right, look. I am not interested in debating this. Detective Ware is more than capable of heading this investigation,” Mayor Hughes said.

My eyes widen. I looked back at Emily and JJ, who were also watching all this from behind.

_Was he kicking us off the case?_

They also seemed a bit stunned and bemused like I was. I took the chance to looked over at Spencer, who seemed to be also surprised by the conversation at hand.

“You gonna let this happen?” I heard Derek ask Detective Ware.

“Let what happen? Make every black man in this country a target?” he said responded back to Derek.

“Rick?” an officer called the detective.

“What?”

“We found Naomi Dade’s body.”

“Damn it,” the detective cursed under his breath.

A flash of light came from the right of me. I looked over through the glass doors where the flash came from. There was a mob of people crowding at the windows, cameras in hand.

JJ was coming from where the people were outside.

“We got a mass of reporters out there,” she said.

I looked away from the bright flashes of the cameras.

“What’s it gonna be, detective?” Derek asked Ware.

“Please. Let us help you,” Gideon said kindly.

Detective Ware took in a breath. He began to think on his choices as the clicks and flashes of the reporter’s cameras continued on the other side of the glass just six feet away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter. This is the longest one I've written so far. 
> 
> How did you feel about Mari and Garcia’s conversation on the phone? Spencer’s clear PTSD from Hankel? Also, I didn’t know Garcia’s father’s name was Emilio since I never watched past season 10 of CM. So when I looked up Mr. Garcia’s first name and saw it was Emilio I decided to make that Mari’s brother’s middle name, cause why not? I thought it was cute. Yes, Mari does have a younger brother that you’ll be meeting sometime in the future!! *says in a dramatic voice* Can you try guessing his first name? 
> 
> P.S thank you for the 1k hits!!!!


	13. Traumas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short chapter. Apologies. Also my semester in college is coming up again, so I’m going to be busier than before. 
> 
> 💖XoXo💖

“Finally, I want to assure you we considered all options, and we’re certain this is the best course of action. Thank you,” Detective Ware was telling the rolling cameras of the reporters. Ware dismissed the reporters and came back to where the team and I were waiting from behind.

“Detective, I think you made the right choice,” Hotch said to Detective Ware, who held a look of derision with what he just told the reporters.

“I hope this doesn’t come back to bite us in the ass,” Detective Ware said to us.

“Why would it?” Emily asked him.

“Why? The last thing I need is to spread fear that a dangerous black man is running around this county,” he said.

“I know why you’re concerned,” I told him honestly. It was one of those tricky situations where sacrifices had to be made. I’m trying to believe that this is the only way for the killings to stop, but it did come with obstacles in the way. People were going to keep the narrative that all black men were thugs, and dangerous criminals. Maybe one day racism will be eradicated. I sure hope so.

Detective Ware gave me an appreciative nod of his head.

“Best way to solve your problem is to stay focused on what we need to do to catch this guy,” Hotch told Detective Ware.

“Tell me. Tell me what to do,” Ware asked us.

“We need to get the word out. Not just on the news. We need to talk to these kids face to face. Gotta give them the profile,” Gideon said.

“What about the talent show that Sandra Davis sang in at her high school. That could be where the unsub saw her sing,” Emily said.

“That’s a good idea. Talk to the kids at her high school,” Gideon told Emily. She left right away.

Gideon turned to JJ.

“Set up a tip line,” he told her.

“Yeah, you got it,” JJ said.

Fifteen minutes later, Gideon, Spencer and I were in front of the bulletin board, which had everything we had on the case.

We were waiting for any more developments in the case. Derek and Detective Ware took to patrol the streets in search for any signs of the unsub.

A couple of times I caught myself watching Spencer standing in front of the bulletin board. It was clear he wasn’t exactly looking at what was on the board. He was staring off in the distance. His eyes blank.

“Tips have just started to come in,” JJ said, appearing behind where I sat in a chair. “So far we have fingers pointed at a local minister, janitor at a school, and oh, Reverend Jesse Jackson.”

“Anything useful?” Gideon asked.

“Not so much,” she said.

“Keep digging,” he told her.

“Hey.”

The officer from earlier appeared in our room. “I got someone who remembers seeing a black guy they didn’t recognize driving around in a black Lincoln in front of our last victim’s house yesterday.”

“That’s the second sighting for that vehicle,” JJ remarked.

“It fits the profile... large, dark sedan,” I added in.

“Include it in the press release,” Gideon said.

“Yeah. Yeah, got it.”

JJ went off to do that.

It was nearly 30 minutes later that we received bad news. The same officer from earlier gave us the news.

“Detective Ware was shot.”

Ware was shot? What?

Gideon looked over at him.

“Where?”

“Him and Agent Morgan were approaching a house they thought looked suspicious and the house owner shot Rick because of what _you_ people told him to release to the press.”

The officer turned on his heels and left the room before we could say anything.

I hung my head down towards the table where I sat.

Earlier I thought the profile we give to the press was something we needed to do to find the killer before he kills again. And now the obstacle I was afraid of going over with the profile was right in front of my face now that Detective Ware got shot.

Could this have been prevented?

Did we make this worse?

One thing was for sure: Ware didn’t deserve this.

Hotch went to the scene to check in on Derek and see what happened. Spencer left to work with the tip lines.

“Another girl just went missing.”

JJ came into the room where we were.

Another girl? Within a matter of hours.

“Who is it?” Gideon asked.

“The girl’s name is Ally Hadley. She told her mom she was sleeping over at a friend’s house, but she never showed up there.”

I thought on what JJ said.

“Is there any chance she’s out with other friends or with her boyfriend?” I asked her.

When I was a teen, I lied to my parents a lot.

A lot.

I remember sneaking out the house with my boyfriend and my best friends back in high school. Late at night driving all the way to D.C and mess around doing dumb shit.

“She says she never does this. She’s a-“

“Good girl,” Gideon finished on behalf of JJ.

“Yeah. She’s African American. 15-years-old. She loves to sing.”

Matches our guy’s type.

She was taken by our unsub.

Spencer rushed into the room.

“Guys, we got a witness. A girl who saw the report on the news. She says a guy came up to her about a month ago, claiming to work for a record company. She’s on the way in.”

“I’ll call the others,” JJ informed us.

When Hotch and Derek came back to the station, Derek and Gideon went to interview the witness.

Jailyn Lewis. A 16-year-old girl.

I only caught the last half of the interview from the other side of the glass.

“He gave me some kind of business card and told me to call him if I changed my mind,” Jailyn said. “It didn’t even have a company name on it... just his name and a phone number. It looked so fake. How could anyone fall for that?”

Her voice cracked.

Gideon asked her, “Do you still have the card?”

“I didn’t have to keep the card.”

“Why?” Derek asked.

“I knew him.”

-

“I was beginning to think you guys had forgotten all about me,” Penelope voice rang out.

Derek, JJ, Spencer and I were on the phone call with her.

“Well, we need you more than ever, hot stuff,” Derek said.

When Derek returned from scouting the neighborhood with Detective Ware, he had an off look in his eyes. I didn’t know how serious Detective Ware’s condition was and I didn’t ask Derek if he knew how he was doing. It didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about it.

“You doing okay?” was all I had said to him.

All he said was, “Yeah,” and turned to go into the interrogation room with Gideon.

“Aww,” Penelope gushed on the phone to Derek. “It’s like candy to my ears, sugar. Go.”

“All right. Here’s the scoop. The guy’s a freelance musician. Played keyboard for the girls’ high school musical. Terrance Wakeland.”

The witness, Jailyn, told Derek and Gideon that Wakeland told her that he was an executive for a record company and wanted to record her voice. He said she had a great voice. That was the ruse he used for all the girls he killed.

“In the New York Metropolitan area including Westchester county. Computer says three,” said Penelope.

“He may work at a recording studio or record company,” Spencer offered.

“Okay, I’m going to cross reference with IRS records.”

“Gotcha,” Penelope said a second later. “Mount Vernon, just outside the Bronx. A and L studios. Looks like they went belly-up a few months ago. But he still works there as a security guard.”

“Thanks, mama. You’re the best.”

Derek hung up the phone.

“I’m going,” Derek said. He grabbed his jacket, car keys, and ran out the doors of the precinct.

Spencer, JJ and I stayed back at the station.

Hotch insisted that Spencer and I didn’t need to go with Derek, Gideon and him.

He was still letting me, and Spencer go easy after Atlanta. I guess accidently ripping out my stitches was not fun experience.

Soon after Derek left the precinct, Emily returned from her talk with some of the kids at Sandra Davis’ school. She drove back to the station after we called her about Jailyn giving us Terrance Wakeland’s name.

“Another time of us waiting around,” I said to Emily. I was referring to the last time we were waiting for the rest of the team to find and get the suspect. The case back in Chicago.

“Yep,” Emily said, plainly.

A couple seconds passed by of us waiting. Nothing else to do.

Then she turned to me.

“I completely screwed up this date,” she said out of the blue.

“Oh?” I rose my brows. “What’d you do?” I asked.

I now knew that only Hotch was married and had a kid out of the other team members. The rest didn’t. But I didn’t know Emily was in the dating scene.

I mean, it _was_ Valentine’s Day a couple days ago over the weekend, so I guess that’s the reason why Emily had a date. It was another Valentine’s Day of me being single. Seeing happy couples on this day really did make me feel indescribably lonely, so I spent the day drawing and painting for another session of art therapy at home.

“I told Morgan this earlier, but I’m a nerd. And I accidently said something geeky to the guy,” she trailed off in chagrin.

“What’d you say?” I asked her. Emily didn’t seem like a nerd. In fact, she seemed really cool. It was kinda shocking to hear that someone like her could also have slip-ups. I mean, I guess I considered myself a little geeky because I’m a book worm.

“Kilgore trout,” Emily admitted.

My eyes narrowed at her.

I waited for her to explain... uh, _whatever_ she just said, but she continued looking at me, waiting for me to speak.

So I asked her, “What’s that?”

She looked at me in surprise.

“I thought you’d know who Kurt Vonnegut is because you actually read. I see you read on the jet all the time,” she baulked.

“Sorry?” I murmured, shrugging my shoulders.

“Kurt Vonnegut is an author who writes a bunch of satire science fiction books. My favorite book by him is _Slaughter-house Five_ , which is where Kilgore trout is from. Even Derek has read the books,” Emily said.

Oh.

Kurt Vonnegut.

I have heard of him, but I’ve never read his books.

“I read mainly Fantasy books,” I told Emily. “Also, aren’t most of Kurt Vonnegut’s books from the 70s?”

“Yes,” she said, then she paused.

“Oh. I forget we’re from different generations,” she said in her monotonous voice.

I rolled my eyes.

“You act like I’m a child. I was born in 1981.”

Emily physically reacted to that. Her body shuddering.

“God, you’re young. You _and_ Reid.”

I wonder how old Spencer was. I never had the opportunity to ask. He didn’t seem _too_ much older than me.

JJ appeared beside us.

“Déjà vu of us waiting,” JJ said, essentially repeating what I said just a few minutes ago to Emily.

“Yeah,” Emily sighed to her.

“Are we going to have a night out? Garcia, you guys and I?” JJ asked us.

“We _should_ ,” I said. I recall Penelope wanting a ‘girls’ night out’ on the phone call in Golconda, and we still haven’t gotten around to it. “Just haven’t found the right time.”

“Are you a busy person?” JJ asked me.

“I prefer staying home. I like to describe myself as an extroverted introvert,” I told her. If there was ever a situation where I needed to stay inside my apartment for months on end, I think I’d totally be fine. I’d finally get to finish all my books I want to read.

“You don’t look the type,” JJ mused.

I get that so frequently. People often assumed I loved to party, drink, whatever. While I am more of a homebody, I do really like to travel and visit different countries, but other than that people would be surprised that on my off time I really enjoy a quiet evening of reading, drawing, and cooking.

Especially cooking. I love food.

“Well, I have nothing to do, so I’m up for any time,” JJ said, bringing my thoughts back to our conversation.

“Yeah, I’m tired of men. A ladies’ night would be wonderful,” Emily said.

We all gave a hearty giggle.

Derek and the rest of the team returned with Terrance Wakeland in hand. He was a tall, brown-skinned young man in his 20s. Turns out the souvenirs he took from the girls’ was recordings of their voices for him to listen to on repeat.

All those young women- no, _children_ , gone before they could get a taste of life. Before they could go to college, travel, marry, have kids of their own.

I couldn’t even imagine what their parents were going through.

Having to bury your own child. That’s the worst imaginable thing a parent could ever go through.

It’s half the reason why I’m scared to have kids, amongst other obvious reasons.

Before we left New York, Derek was going to go to the hospital to visit Detective Ware. Ware was shot once in the stomach, close to death but managed to survive after five hours of surgery.

“I just want to leave a note for him to read when he wakes up,” Derek explained to me and Emily, when we noticed he wasn’t immediately leaving for the jet.

“We’ll come with you,” Emily told him.

“Yeah, Derek. Let’s go,” I said.

-

Detective Ware was peacefully asleep.

His wife and kids were waiting by his bedside when we arrived. His wife met us outside his room when we knocked on the door.

“The man who shot Rick will be charged with criminal negligence, which can range from one month to five years depending on how the trial goes,” she said.

“How is he doing?” Derek asked Mrs. Ware.

“He’s just resting. He’s under a lot of anesthesia, but he can hear us.”

Mrs. Ware looked at Derek with tears in her eyes.

“I heard you were the agent that gave my husband a chance to live.”

She sniffled.

“Thank you,” she breathed out.

Derek hesitated for a second before speaking.

“You’re welcome, Ma’am,” he finally said.

She rushed in for a hug. Again, Derek hesitated before he finally placed his long arms around Mrs. Ware.

They held their embrace for a couple seconds then released.

Mrs. Ware looked at the three of us.

“You can step in for as long as you want.”

“We only have a couple minutes. We’re leaving today,” Derek told her.

“Thank you,” I said to her.

Mrs. Ware simply nodded and gestured us to come into the room.

Ware’s children moved away from their father’s bed and went to their mother’s side to wait outside.

Detective Ware was laying there in the small hospital bed, an IV connected to his arm.

Earlier today I bought flowers for Ware. So did Emily.

Again, Ware did not deserve this. He was just an officer that wanted to keep his community safe from a serial killer, while also keeping the safeties of others first as well. The ones who would’ve been the number one target, as they stereotypically seem to be.

Derek just laid a card on his bedside table. Emily and I placed our flowers on the window sills. Mine was a simple bouquet of [yellow flowers](https://1florist.florist/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/getwell.jpg), of which I didn’t know the names of, with a ‘Get Well Soon’ card. Emily’s was a bouquet of [warm colored flowers](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/33/98/bb/3398bba08d049f415baf4891dc72baaf.jpg) and a balloon with the same message on it. There were already several flower bouquets and cards filling up Ware’s hospital room from coworkers, family members and friends.

“He can hear us,” I reminded Derek.

“Yeah,” he replied, absentmindedly.

He placed his hand as gently as he could on Ware’s right shoulder.

He began to whisper closely into Ware’s ear. I didn’t listen to what he was saying to him. I just stood right next to Emily, waiting for Derek when he was finished.

“I appreciate you guys coming with me,” Derek said, as we exited the hospital. Up here in the Northeast of the U.S, the weather conditions were finally starting to warm up, slowly but surely.

“Of course. No problem,” Emily said. I bobbed my head with Emily.

It really was the least we could do.

“No problem at all.”

A couple minutes of silence passed between us. The black SUV we drove in now was in front of us.

“Did you know that Mari hasn’t read a _single_ Kurt Vonnegut book?” Emily said.

Derek turned his head to me, his brows slowly raising to his forehead.

“Woah now. Is that true, chica?”

We got into the SUV, me in the back, Emily and Derek up front.

“I can’t help what I like and don’t like,” I explained to them.

They didn’t handle that answer well, and on the drive back to the jet, they continued prattling about Kurt Vonnegut and Kilgore Trout while I listened silently, looking out the window of the car of the streets of Groton.

When I made it onto the jet, I was surprisingly drained of energy and began to drift off to sleep the second my ass hit the comfy couch. No blonde, blank eyed woman controlling my dream. Nor were there any murderous dogs. I just passed out.

It was when I heard Spencer and Derek’s conversation that I began to stir.

“You all right?” I heard Derek say to Spencer.

Spencer and Derek were seated behind me where I was laying across the couch.

Spencer didn’t respond.

“Reid?” Derek tried again.

A second passed. “Hm?” I heard Spencer say.

“I said are you all right,” Derek repeated.

“I’m fine,” Spencer said. “Thanks for broadcasting it,” he added in.

I kept my facial expressions neutral and sluggishly buried my head into my shoulder some more to shy away in case they noticed I wasn’t sleeping. I didn’t want them to see that I was technically eavesdropping. If I said something now it’d be apparent that I was, and it’d be really awkward then.

“Hey,” I heard Derek say. “Talk to me.”

“Whatever you say to me in confidence is between us, you know that, right?” Derek said.

I kept my facial expressions the same as a slight feeling of shame coursed through me for listening.

 _Just go back to sleep- go back to sleep,_ I repeated over and over in my head.

_Why did my body wake me up at this moment?_

“I don’t have anything to tell you,” Spencer said to Derek.

There was a moment of silence. I could feel the air was thick with tension. I kept repeating the same mantra repeatedly in my head.

“Reid, listen to me,” I heard Derek finally say. “What you went through out there, nobody expects you to rebound-“

“I can still do my job, all right,” Spencer interrupted Derek. “I’m not gonna freak out.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

They were whispering now, but harshly. From my proximity I could still hear them, albeit with a bit more difficulty.

There was silence on the jet for so long I was beginning to think Spencer stopped talking to Derek altogether.

“It’s the crime scene photos,” came from Spencer. It was a tiny whisper.

“Crime scene photos?” Derek asked for more elaboration.

“The dead girls in the leaves,” Spencer said.

“Reid, we’ve seen worse.”

“I know. I know we’ve seen worse, but,” Spencer paused. “For the first time, I know.”

“I look at them, and,” he let out a harsh breath. “I know what they were thinking. And I know what they were feeling, like, right before.”

His voice cracked when he finished speaking.

That was why it seemed like he was staring off into space sometimes. It was the crime scene photos that reminded him of his time with Tobias. I felt a pang of sympathy ring out through my chest for him.

“That’s called empathy. And it’s a good thing,” Derek said.

“It’s not. It’s got me all messed up. I don’t know how to focus. I can’t do my job as well,” Spencer whimpered.

He took in a breath. “So, what do I do?” I heard him ask Derek.

“You use it. Let it make you a better profiler. A better person,” Derek said.

Spencer gave a small sullen laugh.

“A better person,” he repeated.

I didn’t hear anything for a while after that. I realized it was the end of their conversation. I was beginning to doze off again now with something in mind.

The traumas humans go through can make us become even stronger than before. Maybe Spencer experienced the traumatic event of Tobias Hankel for a reason. What reason, I can't say, but it was just a thought to make the best of it.

There was a saying..... what was that quote again?

There was this quote I came across for my literature class back in college.

By German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche in his book, _Twilight of the Idols._

Nietzsche wrote, “That which does not kill us, makes us stronger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did you feel about Spencer's behavior here? His conversation with Derek? Mari and the girl's conversation?
> 
> In the original episode if you weren’t aware, Detective Ware did die from getting shot. I didn’t want to keep because I felt his death was unnecessary and used as a plot device for it to be irony because of the systematic racism plot in the episode. Again, know that systematic racism is real in the U.S. Having Ware dying in my fic felt wrong to me, so I changed it for the better. 
> 
> And yes, that Nietzsche quote parallels the quotes from the show. No, this isn’t the same quote they used in the episode, I just thought it was fitting.


	14. Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows season 2, episode 17: Distress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed this episode, so I hope you enjoy this chapter. Interesting things are going to happen 😉 Also sorry for this again, but I've been going back and editing my fic up more because I'm insecure and never satisfied with my writing. Feel free to re-read if you wanna!!
> 
> BTW Thank you for all the kudos and hits!!!💜💜

It was almost ten p.m. when I received a phone call from JJ.

We had a case.

At least it was late, so there wouldn’t be any traffic during this time. Before leaving my apartment, I got out of my gray sweats and dressed back into my work clothes, packed my go-bag, pulled my inky-black curls up into a messy high bun, and grabbed a quick light snack.

I wasn’t doing much when JJ called me. Just reading a book by one of my favorite Fantasy authors.

Robin Hobb.

Robin Hobb was considered one of _the_ best Fantasy author’s ever.

My favorite book by her is _Assassin’s Apprentice,_ the first book in The Farseer Trilogy. I adore how her characters are written so fantastically, and her writing style is _so_ poetic and absolutely flawless.

My parents usually got me a Robin Hobb book for my birthday, or really any book in the Fantasy genre. I just loved escaping to another world different from our own fucked up one.

And I mean, come on, who wouldn’t want magical powers?

Unfortunately because I had be an adult and do adult things like go to work, I sometimes didn’t have time to read during the weekdays like I used to in high school and, hell, even in college. I really didn’t take advantage of my free time back then. Really regret it now.

It’s been a handful of days since the case in Groton. And close to three weeks since our case in Atlanta.

After coming back home from Atlanta, my mother called me and asked me how I was doing at my new job. It was a little more than awkward for me to give her an honest answer.

“¿Cómo va su nuevo trabajo?” _How is your new job going?_

“Ehh-” I stuttered. Big mistake.

“¿Ay, qué?” she said, catching onto my tone of voice.

“No, no es nada,” I assured her. _No, it’s nothing._

I don’t think mamá would like hearing that I was attacked by a pack of wild dogs within the first couple months of my new job..... And that I received 18 stitches from said dog attack.

“Hija,” she warned me in a dangerously low voice.

Why do mom’s always seem to know everything?

“Mamá, no es nada. Hice nuevos amigos, eso es todo.” _It's nothing. I made some new friends, that's about it._

She gave a low hum, and I knew she didn’t believe me. This conversation was definitely going to be brought up again the next time I went over to her house.

_Great._

“¿Ya conseguiste un regalo para tu hermano?” she asked. _Have you gotten a gift for your brother, yet?_

“Ay, no. No he encontrado el tiempo para. Lo haré, no te preocupes.” _Ay, no. I haven't found the time to. I will, don't worry._

“Está bien, pero no te olvides de venir a su fiesta de cumpleaños,” she warned me. _Okay, but don't forget to come to his birthday party._

 _I won’t,_ I had promised her.

Even with barely any traffic, I was still the last one to arrive in the conference room. At least I thought I was before realizing Spencer wasn’t there.

Hotch gave me a slight disapproving stare at my tardiness.

When I first started at the BAU, I promised him I’d be on time every day. I also was going to move closer to Quantico, so the commute wouldn't be too bad, but to be honest I haven’t been looking for apartments close by the BAU because I liked the area where I lived in Northern Virginia. Near the nation’s capital: Washington D.C. It’s where I grew up. Where I went to high school, college, and got my job at the DEA offices. I loved living near the city. Quantico was a bit too quiet for me. Northern Virginia was where my family lived as well. Anyway, I’ve gotten used to waking up early in the morning and commuting over to Quantico. I could keep doing this.

I sent Hotch an apologetic look and sat down quickly in the first chair available closest to me, just as JJ began to explain the case.

“This is Houston’s fifth ward, it accounts for a large percent of the city’s growing homicide rate, due to gang violence and a bustling narcotics trade.”

I was very aware of that. Drug trafficking was huge in Texas because of its close proximity to the southern border. Drugs were smuggled in the U.S everyday by the truckload from the borders.

JJ continued speaking. “Although in the last 48 hours, there have been three distinctive murders in the ward.”

“Distinctive?” Derek asked her.

Pictures of three dead men of different racial backgrounds showed up on the monitor.

“Three men, three different socioeconomic groups, all killed on the street with their necks snapped. There appears to be no other injury, and there’s no apparent connection between the victims or motive....” JJ trailed off. Her gaze looked past us at the entrance of the conference room.

I twisted my head to the right to see what she was all of a sudden distracted by.

Spencer was entering the conference room. In one of his hands was a mug of coffee, and in the other hand he was clutching a notepad haphazardly against his body. He didn’t have his brown leather messenger bag he normally carries.

In the short time I’ve known Spencer, I didn’t peg him to be the type to be late for anything. And judging by the other’s looks of disbelief they are also surprised by Spencer’s late entrance.

With all eyes on him, which he seemingly ignores, he sat down in the nearest seat to him, the chair next to mine. I tried not to stare too much at him, but out of the corner of my eyes I peeked a bit at him. He wasn’t looking at the monitor or at JJ who was continuing to explain the case. He had his eyes set towards his hands resting on the table.

Around his eyes were bruised shadowy purple. Dark circles.

He hasn’t been sleeping well.

“...The ward’s detectives are inundated with homicides,” JJ continued. I forced my attention away from Spencer to JJ.

Focus on the case.

“Gang violence is a big problem. Shootings, armed robberies, it’s an everyday occurrence, but this type of street attack is new to them.”

“Could it be gang related,” Emily asked. “Maybe some new type of initiation rite?”

“The gangs in the ward use guns. In fact, no known gangs exhibit this type of M.O.”

“What about dope? These guys come up with pretty freaky ways of killing the competition to get their message out,” said Derek.

That was true. Drug wars were a common occurrence that happened between gangs. But these people didn’t seem to be connected to any kind of drug trafficking or drug use.

“Yeah, but there just doesn’t seem to be any connection between the victims and the drug world,” JJ said, relating to my thoughts.

“Homeless man, a construction worker, security guard,” Gideon muttered.

These seemed to be random attacks.

“Just three dead men and no witnesses.”

“We’re looking for a homicidal serial criminal in a neighborhood populated by criminals. The challenge will be separating him from the rest,” Hotch said.

“We have no evidence, no apparent interaction between the unsub and the victims pre- or post-mortem, and an indistinguishable M.O,” Spencer said. He shrugged. “Should be simple.”

He said that last sentence in an almost cynical attitude.

The entire team and I stared at Spencer once again. Those were the first words he said today, and it didn’t sound like his normal self. The same way he’s been acting since Tobias Hankel took him.

After what I heard on the jet, the conversation between Spencer and Derek, I knew Spencer wouldn’t want me or the team to interfere and ask him if he was okay.

 _Thanks for broadcasting it,_ he had said to Derek.

He didn’t even want to let his best friend in on how he’s feeling.

Why would he want someone he knew an even less amount of time to ask him how he was?

“We’re heading to Houston. Wheel’s up in thirty,” Hotch told us.

Spencer was the first to get up from the table. Hurrying up from his chair to leave the conference room. I looked over at Emily, who was staring at Spencer’s retreating form in shock.

It was clear everybody in the room was in disbelief at Spencer’s behavior, but no one said anything. We just prepared ourselves for the three and a half hour flight to Houston.

“We got a construction worker, outsider in the community. We got a security guard... that’s an authority figure. And then we got a homeless man. That’s a powerless victim that no one would notice missing. So who’s he targeting?” Derek asked us in the jet.

“Let’s see if any of the victims frequented the same stores or sites,” Hotch said.

“He used blitz attacks, which means he most likely lacks the interpersonal skills needed to coerce his victims into coming close. And he also used the element of surprise, which means he may have stalked his victims prior to killing them,” Spencer said.

“Well, if that’s the case, I want to go to the last crime scene to see where he may have been hiding,” Derek said.

“I want to see the neighborhood for myself. I’ll go with you,” Gideon said to Derek.

“The rest of us will go to the precinct and set up shop,” Hotch said.

“I’ll map out the area and see if I can find any places the victims would have visited in the neighborhood,” Spencer said.

I looked up at Spencer. “Maybe we can find a connection between them. I’ll help you with that,” I offered him. I was trying to be polite and offer any help. The area the victims were killed in was a huge place; maybe I could help cut time down by working with Spencer. I turned my attention back to the files of the case in my lap.

“I can handle it,” Spencer said abruptly.

My eyes snapped back to him.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean that you can't,” I said, careful with my words.

“Isn’t that what ‘I’ll help you with it’ means?” he asked.

“Um.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Reid,” Hotch interrupted, saving me from coming up with a reply. “Sanchez will help you with the geographical profiling and victimology.”

Hotch said this in a daunting voice, his words final.

“Fine,” Spencer said in a dismissive attitude, which matched the look on his face. I saw his eyebrow twitch upwards in annoyance.

Both Hotch and Gideon were watching Spencer with indecipherable looks on their faces. Derek looked on with concern at his friend’s behavior. JJ and Emily were wearing matching looks of astonishment on their faces.

“Remember, this is a high-crime area. Be vigilant. Nobody goes anywhere alone,” Hotch said to all of us.

We gave nods of acknowledgment.

I snuck a look back at Spencer.

He was writing in his notepad, seemingly ignoring the rest of us.

I turned my full attention back to the files in my lap anxiously awaiting for the jet to land, so I could leave all the tension in the air behind.

-

“What’s that?” Hotch asked JJ.

I looked at JJ. She was holding a plate of sugar cookies.

“One of the detective’s wives made us cookies,” JJ replied. It was hard hearing her over all the construction being done around the precinct.

“Wow. Homemade cookies?” Emily marveled.

“Yeah. I guess that’s what they mean by southern hospitality,” JJ said, drawling her words out in an exaggerated southern accent, which I chuckled lightly at.

“What are you saying?” Spencer asked irritably. The construction noises were really getting loud now. When we entered the room the team and I were going to set-up shop, Spencer immediately began working on the map of the neighborhood. Geographical profiling.

“Southern hospitality,” I said to him loudly so he could hear me.

“I need to concentrate,” Spencer muttered. He went over to one of the closest windows that was opened and slammed it shut. I was startled at the force he used to shut it.

“How can anybody hear with all this work going on?”

“Well, you’re gonna have to get used to it. Construction crews are working around the clock,” JJ said.

We saw it on the way in. The buildings around the precinct were being remodeled.

“City’s trying to return to its splendor, and that means that Houston’s poorest are being kicked out of their houses.”

“Unsub might be homeless. Appears to have been living in a building next to where the security guard was attacked,” Gideon said. Him, Derek and Detective Fuller entered the room, coming back from the neighborhood of the last crime scene. Detective Fuller was one of the head detectives on this case.

Gideon stepped up to the map of the neighborhood.

“These are the three locations of the last three murders, all near abandoned buildings,” Spencer told Gideon.

“He knows the neighborhood. Maybe he was recently displaced,” Hotch said.

“Could be a motive,” Emily suggested. “Construction worker, security guard at a construction site. Could be payback?”

“What about the homeless man?” Derek said.

“We get a lot of beefs down there among the homeless. That one could’ve just been a fight about space or food,” said Detective Fuller.

“Let’s get a list of residents who’ve been kicked out of their homes by the gentrification,” Gideon said.

He turned to me where I was sitting at the table.

“You and Reid check the shelters.”

“Oh, okay,” I said.

I went to grab my purple jacket hanging off the back of the chair.

I looked back at Spencer.

“Are you okay with that?” I asked.

In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have said anything, at least not right then. But when I’m nervous, I do impulsive things. It was genuinely meant to be a nice question. If Spencer wanted someone else to go with him, I’d have been fine with that. But I guess it didn’t come off so nicely.

“I’m fine with that,” Spencer said, pinching his brows together slightly. The way he said it though, as if he couldn’t believe I’d say that to him with the team in the room.

“Oh, okay,” I said softly.

Spencer walked past me out the room to wait outside.

_How do I manage to fuck things up even more?_

The car ride over to the shelter was even more awkward than the car ride to Hankel’s house. Complete silence filled the air the whole ride over. No question game, no getting to know each other more, no small talk. Nothing. Nada.

Spencer kept his gaze outside his window of the car while I focused on the paper road map of Houston for directions to the shelter. 

I didn’t say anything to Spencer about Atlanta. The conversation of him and Derek kept floating up in my mind.

Spencer was just the type of person to deal with his emotions by himself. I could relate. And if he wanted that, then I’ll do just that.

It was kind of hard, however, seeing someone going through something obviously horrible but not being able to help some way.

Luckily the shelter was less than ten minutes away from the police station, easily a walkable distance, so the silence between us wasn’t sufferable for too long.

 _The twelfth street shelter for the homeless_ was a relatively big building. Inside the shelter, numerous amounts of people filled up the large main room. It never occurred to me that I’ve never been inside a shelter before. And it was upsetting to see all the people in this room who depend on this shelter just to survive.

Sleeping on the tiny cots, lining up for food, drinking water from small plastic cups.

Young, old; Male, female.

I felt pretty grateful that I had a roof over my head.

Spencer and I had to walk past them all to talk to the person in charge of the shelter.

A tall, pretty young woman with dark hair and dark eyes approached us.

“I’m Angie, one of the administrators,” she said.

“Hi. I’m Agent Sanchez.” I pointed to Spencer, to the right of me. “This is Agent Reid. We’re with the FBI.”

“Really?” she asked. She had a honey sweet voice.

“Really,” Spencer confirmed.

I took out my FBI credentials from my jacket pocket and showed it to her.

“It looks like you’re pretty busy,” I said to her, gesturing to all the people milling around us.

She gave a little exhausted sigh.

“With the demolitions in the projects and the abandoned buildings, there’s no place else for people to sleep.”

I couldn’t imagine the pressure she must feel taking care of all these people every day. That’s gotta be stressful.

“Well, I appreciate that you spend your the time off to-“

“Do you have a list of everyone who comes through here?” Spencer spoke over me.

I looked over my shoulder at him. Did he just cut me off?

“Uh,” Angie began. I firmly returned my attention back to her. “We have a sign-in sheet, but we don’t force anyone to sign if they don’t want to. Some who do don’t even use their real names. Elvis eats here a lot.”

“We would appreciate all the lists you have,” I said to her.

“Why?” she asked.

“Have you noticed anyone who acts unusually aggressive towards the other residents?” Spencer asked.

“What’s this about?” Angie asked.

“A series of murders in the area. The perpetrator may be a homeless man. Maybe someone who stays here. He may even be in this room as we speak.”

I could see Angie was getting very concerned and worried, so I sent Spencer a look to tell him to _chill._

He ignored it and continued talking.

“Have you noticed anyone who acts paranoid or displays explosive, unprovoked bursts of violence, more than just pushing and shoving? I mean, someone who really tries to harm others,” Spencer asked Angie.

“There are territorial fights over food and places to sleep. The nurse treats people for minor injuries all the time, but no one’s _seriously_ hurt,” Angie insisted. She sounded still a bit confused on why she was being asked this.

I bobbed my head at her.

“If anyone does come to mind, give us a call,” Spencer took out an FBI contact information card and handed it to her. “Thank you.”

Then he walked away heading outside of the shelter entirely.

He just left.

“A murderer?” Angie asked me, completely stunned. I turned my attention back to her.

Damn it.

“I’m sorry. I- uh- uh.”

I didn’t know what to say.

Angie continued looking at me expectedly.

“Our investigation is still ongoing- and no one has been hurt in a shelter!” I assured her. “We, uh, right now, we’re just proceeding with caution. So, uh, please let the authorities know if anything, uh, odd happens. Thank you,” I told her.

Angie looked unconvinced with what I said, but simply nodded her head and turned back to go to work.

I let out a breath.

The sun heated the top of my head immediately as I walked out of the shelter. It was typical weather for Houston, Texas even during the winter months.

“There’s a high presence of mental disorders with the homeless,” Spencer said to me as I stepped up close to him.

“Yeah,” I replied absentmindedly. I hesitated for a second before speaking again.

“Why did you say that?” I asked him.

“What?” he asked. He sounded puzzled about what I was talking about.

“Back in there, that woman was scared that there might be a murderer on the streets who hangs around shelters.”

“We’re investigating a serial homicide. Should I have pretended there’s no danger?” he asked.

“I mean, I don’t think we should create panic in the community. Now she might be afraid of every homeless man that walks into the shelter,” I said to him.

“Again, until we find the unsub, how is that a bad thing?” Spencer asked me.

I knew I told myself I wasn’t going to bring up Spencer’s different behavior even just a little bit, but I couldn’t help myself.

“I haven’t seen you act like this before,” I said to him cautiously. I avoided mentioning Tobias, even though I knew that was the reason he was acting differently. It was like walking on eggshells.

Like earlier before, I probably should not have said anything.

“Oh, really? In the little over a month that you’ve known me, you’ve never seen me act this way?” Spencer said sarcastically. “Hey, no offense, Mari, but you don’t really know what you’re talking about, do ya’?”

My eyes widened and my mouth slightly parted in shock at what he said.

I mean, he wasn’t wrong. I didn’t know him as long as the other members. Which is why I didn’t mention his different attitude before. But it was his cynical tone of voice that caught me completely off guard. Before I could say anything to him, however, Spencer began to walk away.

I cracked.

“I heard your conversation with Derek on the jet,” I blurted out to his retreating back before I lost the courage to speak.

Spencer froze, stopping in his tracks.

“I know you’re still having PTSD about..... about Tobias,” I said.

He turned back around to face me.

“So you’re an eavesdropper now? I guess I’m not too shocked,” he said.

I ignored his comment.

“I-I tried to stay out of it because that’s what _I_ would’ve wanted. But now I think you need to talk to someone or maybe take some time off-”

“I don’t need to talk to anybody,” he snapped.

I cringed at his tone.

“Spencer, you helped me with my anxiety attacks back in Golconda, you helped me with _my_ trauma. Why can’t you see you might need help too?” I asked him.

“Because I don’t!” Spencer exclaimed. “I think you need to mind your own business.”

With that, Spencer marched away once more. He didn’t walk back to the SUV we came in though; he began to stride over to the sidewalk.

“Where are you going?” I called after him.

“I’m walking back to the precinct,” he responded, pumping his legs even faster.

I ran to catch up with his long-limbed pace until I was at his side. Looking up at him was a bit difficult with the sunlight now glaring directly into my eyes. I squinted up at him. God, he was so tall. Damn my 5'6 self.

“Hotch told us not to go anywhere alone. This is a high-crime area,” I reminded him. “Please get in the car.”

“I don’t need someone to look after me,” Spencer bit back, keeping his eyes forward in front of him.

“Spencer,” I snapped.

Spencer stopped his hurried pace. He finally looked at me, albeit reluctantly.

“Get in the damn car,” I said.

For a moment, I didn’t think he would listen. But after taking one look at my face to see that I wasn’t joking, he began to make his way back to the black SUV.

I sighed, immediately regretting what I did.

_I shouldn’t have gotten upset with him._

Spencer got into the passenger seat of the car, slamming the car door forcefully. I scrunched my face up at the loud noise, letting out an exhausted breath.

We got so close to one another, especially when we had all those chess matches on the jet rides back to Quantico. That was definitely gone now after Tobias Hankel.

I made my way over to the driver’s side of the car.

If the car ride to the shelter was awkward as all hell, this was going to be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. Spencer's attitude coming full force in this chapter, which I hope you guys understand why. So how did you feel about this chapter?  
>    
> Again thank you for the kudos and hits. I appreciate it!!! 
> 
> 💋


	15. Coping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💖Thank you for the 1600 hits💖
> 
> Xoxo.

Spencer and I met up with Hotch in the precinct once we returned from the shelter.

“Just got back from the local homeless shelter. The administrator hasn’t noticed anyone new displaying aggressive behavior,” Spencer explained to Hotch.

The whole ride back to the precinct Spencer didn’t look at me even once.

“He’s not in a homeless shelter. I just talked to Gideon and Morgan. They think that he’s killing to protect some makeshift shelter of his own,” Hotch told us.

He's killing people to protect his shelter? There must be some type of emotional attachment to his shelter then.

“So are we ready for a profile yet?” Spencer asked.

“We’re missing something. How did this homeless man learn to kill so efficiently?” Hotch said. “We need to get lucky. We need him to make a mistake.”

I thought on what Hotch said...

How _did_ this homeless man kill so proficiently? Did he have a job or profession before ending up on the streets? A former gang member? Was he in the military? A former cop?

My thoughts led me back to Spencer. He was fully disregarding my presence and has been for the past hour we’ve been back at the precinct. Despite our task to work on the geographical profile and victimology together he somehow managed to take no notice of me. It’s like he didn’t even know I was in the room.

High heels clicked behind me. I turned around to see JJ entering our little set-up.

“Mari, there’s a little girl here who may have gotten a look at the unsub. Hotch wants you to talk to her.”

“Okay,” I said. I got up from my seat and followed JJ out. Spencer’s eyes never left the map we were working on.

The little girl was only five or six years of age. She had her brown hair in a ponytail and wore a thick white winter coat. Her father, Jorge Hernández, was from Mexico with limited English. He had an encounter with the unsub. JJ informed me he had a broken nose, but other than that relatively no major injuries.

His daughter’s name was María, JJ told me. She could understand English enough, but had trouble speaking it, so Hotch asked for me to be the translator. I sat down in the cushiony chair to her right, Hotch was sat to María’s left. I could tell she was a bit shaken up after seeing the unsub.

“María. ¿Estás bien?” I asked her. The construction noises had at least gone down for now as it was past working hours, so I didn’t have to shout to talk to María. Shouting might scare her even more.

She didn’t answer me and instead turned to Hotch. “Is my papá gonna be okay?” she asked him, unsteadily.

“Yes,” Hotch said to her.

I laid my hand gently on her small shoulder.

“¿Podría responder a algunas preguntas para nosotros?” I asked, as gently as I could. _Could you answer a few questions for us?_

“Sí,” she said.

“¿Le dijo algo a su papá?” I asked her. _Did he say anything to your papá?_

She shook her head slightly, her ponytail swishing side to side.

“No.”

I translated what I said to Hotch. He turned to María.

“What were you and your papa doing before the bad guy came?” Hotch asked her in the softest voice I’ve ever heard come from him.

It took a second for her to respond.

“Papá sacó la basura. Y luego saltó.... y golpeó a mi papa. Gritaba a él.” _Papá took out the garbage. And then he jumped out and hit my papá. I was screaming at him._

“No haga daño a mi papá! Pensé que él también me iba a pegar, pero entonces se paró y me miró raro,” María said, on the verge of tears. _Don’t hurt my papá! I thought he was going to hit me too, but then he stopped, and he looked at me funny._

“¿Qué quieres decir con... gracioso?” I asked her, gently. _What do you mean by... funny?_

“Parecía triste,” María sniffled. _He looked sad._

He looked sad?

“Dijo algo,” she continued. “No a mi papá. Para mí.” _He did say something. Not to my papá. To me._

“¿Qué dijo?” I asked her. _What did he say?_

“¿Dijo que estás bien? ¿Por qué lloras? Y luego corrimos,” María said. _He said are you okay? Why are you crying? And then we ran._

In between María’s sentences, I translated what she said back to the patiently awaiting Hotch.

“María,” Hotch spoke to her. “What you did was very brave. Can you help us with one more thing?”

María bobbed her small head in confirmation.

“Can you tell us what the man looked like?” he asked.

She turned back to look at me.

“Era blanco, alto y sucio.” _He was white, and tall and dirty._

María paused and looked over to Hotch. She made a gesture towards Hotch’s hand.

“Y tenía un anillo como su,” she said. _And he had a ring like his._

I translated what she said to Hotch. He held up his left hand and pointed to his wedding ring.

“Like this?” he asked María.

“I remember his ring,” she whispered to Hotch.

“Thank you,” Hotch said.

María nodded then her eyes looked past me at something.

“Abuela!” she shrieked.

I looked back to see an older woman led by an officer. María ran up to her grandmother and they embraced each other tightly. Her grandmother kissed her on the forehead multiple times.

I walked over to the both of them. Her grandma looked up from where she was kissing María’s forehead.

“Muchas gracias,” I thanked her.

María and her grandmother left to visit her father at the hospital.

Hotch and I walked back to our room we set up in. Emily and Spencer were there.

“The unsub asked if she was okay and why she was crying,” I said to them.

“He wasn’t aware of what he was doing to her,” Hotch said.

The unsub maybe was delusional. He didn’t kill María’s father because _she_ was there. Did he have kids of his own? María told us he wore a wedding ring. He was a husband to someone. Maybe a family man.

JJ came into the room.

“Garcia’s on line one,” JJ said to us. She hit speaker phone on the police station’s telephone. “Go ahead, Penelope.”

“All right, cowgirls and boys. I’ve got the comparison satellite images of the before and after pictures, and I found something. Check it,” Penelope said.

We all settled in to look closely at the monitor on top of the table.

A satellite image appeared of the rooftop of a building.

“Do you see it yet?” Penelope asked.

“Yeah,” Hotch said.

Penelope zoomed in on the picture. I couldn’t tell what it was.

“An S.O.S,” Emily said.

The image cleared up more so I could see. There, on the roof of the building was the spelt out image of the words S, O, S in some type of dark markings.

“Yeah, it’s made of debris and other rocky bits of gobbly-gook. This is the building where the security guard got killed,” Penelope said.

“He’s asking for help?” I pondered aloud.

“Wait, guys. Listen outside,” Spencer said. He paused to listen outside. We all paused too.

The construction sounds have been continuing for more than half the time we’ve been here, so I almost got used to it by now. Those were the only noises going on outside. Listening to them at Spencer’s request though, I heard it in a different light now.

Banging, loud noises, shouting, crashes.

“Chaos. S.O.S,” Hotch said.

_How did this homeless man learn to kill so efficiently? Hotch asked._

_Did he have a job or profession before ending up on the streets?_

Loud noises.

S.O.S.

_Was he in the military?_

I looked at the team around me as I realized it.

“He’s a war veteran,” I said.

The loud noises must’ve triggered his memories for him to believe he was still in war. He was suffering from...... PTSD.

Hotch confirmed what everybody in the room was thinking.

“He thinks he’s in a war zone.”

-

“He left a distress signal on the roof of one of one of the buildings,” Hotch was saying to Derek and Morgan on the phone.

“The quick strikes are consistent with trained military tactics,” Derek said back on the phone.

“He must have served in a place that look or sounded like this ward,” Emily noted.

I nodded idly.

“Well, we were right about him being homeless, in a sense. Wherever he is in his mental state, he’s certainly not at home,” Gideon said.

“He may not even be aware he’s killing,” Hotch said.

“Now how’s that?” came from Detective Fuller.

“When soldiers suffered from anxiety, depression, and flashbacks in World War I, it was called shell shock. In World War II: battle fatigue. Now we refer to it as PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder, war related. A side effect of which is slipping into dissociative states,” Spencer explained.

“The mind divorces itself from reality so it can cope with the trauma,” Emily said.

The human mind really was a mysterious thing to deceive a person’s eyes from what they were seeing.

“He’s reliving a memory. He’s trapped in his head in some war zone,” said Gideon.

“Hiding and defending himself from the enemy,” I heard Derek say.

“Okay, so how do we find a man who’s trapped inside his head?” Emily asked.

“María said he has a wedding ring. Someone’s missing him,” I said, recalling what María told me and Hotch.

His wife and _maybe_ his children.

“Good. I’m with Detective Fuller. Morgan has the last crime scene to check,” Gideon said.

“JJ, check missing person’s reports, see if anyone matches the description. It would have been filed recently, the last two or three days,” Hotch told JJ.

JJ went to do just that.

Some hours later, JJ found a missing person’s report that matched the description of our unsub we were looking for. JJ brought in two people into the precinct. A man with gray streaks in his hair and a dark-haired woman, both in their 40s.

Diana Woodridge and Max Weston. The possible unsub’s wife and his best friend. Roy Woodridge has been missing since last Tuesday.

“He was on his way home from work,” Mrs. Woodridge was saying. “He called before he left the office and said we needed to talk when he got home. He sounded upset. That was the last I heard from him.”

The team and I were in a large conference room listening to Mrs. Woodridge’s story. I leaned against a table behind where the interview was happening, Spencer just a couple inches away, also leaning against the same table as me. Emily and JJ sat at the round table with Mrs. Woodridge and Max, asking them the questions.

Spencer and I still haven’t talked since we came back from the shelter. There was still an awkward air between the two of us.

“What was he upset about?” Emily asked Mrs. Woodridge.

“He didn’t say,” Mrs. Woodridge said.

“Dana called me that night,” said Max. “When Roy didn’t show up.... The next morning we filed a missing person’s report.”

“Mrs. Woodridge, where does your husband work?” Hotch asked.

“He’s a consultant at a security firm downtown,” Mrs. Woodridge said.

“Did your husband ever serve in combat?” Gideon asked.

“Excuse me?” Max said.

“Is he a veteran?” Gideon asked again.

“Yeah, uh... we were in special ops. 75th ranger regiment, Bravo company, 3rd battalion. But Roy..... he retired shortly after things went bad in Mogadishu,” Max said.

“That was back in 1993,” Spencer quipped from beside me. “Let me ask you this.... does he display any sort of, uh.... behavioral tics, uh certain everyday things that make him jumpy or startled?”

“Why?” Mrs. Woodridge asked.

Instead of answering her, he said, “Does he?”

“Is this going to help find him?” Mrs. Woodridge asked around the room.

“Mrs. Woodridge, please. We need to know everything we can about your husband,” Emily told her tenderly.

“We all had a... hard time over there,” Max said. “You know, you bring some things home with you.”

“Like what?”

I leaned forward from the table to listen closely.

“He has a hard time with loud noises. He can’t be in crowds. He has nightmares and wakes up in cold sweats,” Mrs. Woodridge explained to us.

She continued.

“The smells are the worst. He.....” she paused. “If he smells something burning, like a barbecue or gas or fire.... he gets sick.”

“It really only got bad about a year ago,” she admitted after a second.

“What happened to him in Somalia?” Gideon asked.

“Nothing,” Max insisted. He gave a small chuckle. “Combat happened.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“What does that mean?” Gideon said.

We all waited for Max to explain what he meant.

He didn’t and instead said, “I’m gonna get a drink of water.”

Max got up from his chair and left the room.

_He knew more than he led on._

Gideon went out to follow after Max. The rest of us stayed back in the room.

I noticed Mrs. Woodridge was fidgeting anxiously in her chair. Hotch grabbed a paper cup and poured water out for her.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

She took a sip then hesitated before saying-

“Could somebody please tell me what’s going on?”

She looked around the room at us. At JJ.. at Spencer.. at me.

I didn’t say anything, and neither did Spencer or JJ. Hotch was the one that answered her.

“There have been some people hurt recently and we think that there may be someone lost on the streets. Someone who thinks he is still at war.”

“But Roy would never hurt innocent people. Well, why would he even be in this neighborhood?” Mrs. Woodridge asked Hotch.

She couldn’t believe her husband would be capable of such a thing. Of course she would. She loved him. Love can blind the truth from people. It was that powerful.

The police station’s phone began ringing.

JJ went to answer it.

“Hey, Garcia. We have Mrs. Woodridge here with us.”

“Oh, uh, well I found an ’02 white Ford F150 pickup truck,” Penelope said.

“Oh my god,” Mrs. Woodridge swallowed down her water quickly from the cup she was drinking from. “That’s his truck.”

“It was impounded. Uh, it had a flat tire and was picked up on Lyon street about a quarter of a mile from highway 59,” Penelope explained.

“He takes the East Tex freeway to work every day.”

The team and I all shared the same looks to each other.

It was him.

“Mrs. Woodridge, I’m very sorry... but this is definitely your husband,” Emily said.

-

“We have to put a SWAT team together, plan a grid search and go building to building,” Gideon said, walking into the room we occupied.

We were back in the main conference room. Me, Hotch, Spencer and Detective Fuller. Emily went to comfort Mrs. Woodridge in a small waiting room.

“He’s reliving the war, isn’t he?” Hotch asked, although it was clear he already knew the answer.

“A specific incident in which he killed a child.”

That’s why he let María and her father go, and why he was compassionate to her. It wasn’t that he was a father himself. She was a child as well. Like the one he killed back in Somalia.

“Guys, the SWAT team’s gonna have guns, right?” Spencer said. “What happens if he tries to fight them?”

Gideon left the room instead of answering. No one else had an answer to Spencer’s question either.

Mental health was still so misunderstood. There was this perception people had of it. That it wasn’t real. Or that it was something you could get over. I knew especially amongst military men, a lot don’t get help for it, some type of weird fragile masculinity issues, and because of that- over time it gets worse and worse. Sure not all of them become killers, but it can make a person’s life much more stressful for themselves _and_ for their loved ones around them.

The SWAT team was getting ready for their confrontation with Roy. They were passing around pictures of Roy to keep an eye out for on the streets.

Turns out three days ago police shut down the freeway around five p.m.; cars were stalled, and Roy must have tried to exit on the surface streets. He ended up with a flat tire. He was changing that tire when an eight-story building imploded five blocks away. He heard the explosion and reacted like a bomb had landed nearby. This explosion is what triggered his dissociation from reality. And since then he’s been stuck in that state.

I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Roy. Living one of the worst moments of his life. Fighting for survival. Constantly believing he will die at any second.

Spencer found out that Roy might’ve stolen a radio. There was a robbery of a two-way radio from a construction site recently. All signs point to Roy. Max explained that back in the day, they only used UHF.

He’s looking for help.

And he’s going to keep trying to contact the command center.

Hotch asked Detective Fuller to set up a dozen UHF radios in the room we were in, tuned to a pre-set channel frequency.

We were sure about one thing though. The profile. All Roy wants is to be rescued. He doesn’t kill out of pleasure, but for necessity. For survival.

“It’s channel eleven.”

The team and I were waiting for a signal from Roy. Standing by for him to contact channel eleven and we’ll answer back on the radio.

“Are you ready, Garcia?” JJ asked.

“I’ve got Nat Retcon satellites all over the ward,” Penelope said.

“Stand by.”

God, I hope this works.

It was a couple minutes of us waiting for a signal. Any sign of Roy.

“This is John Doe,” said a voice from the radio. It was a little staticky, hard to hear on his end. “Looking for Mark Rippon.”

Max was in the room with us. He was here to identify if the voice we heard was Roy or not. Judging by the relieved look on his face, it was definitely Roy.

Gideon looked over at Max.

“Can you help us? You know how to do this better than we do,” Gideon asked him.

He was talking about the secret codes Max and Roy used to communicate back in the military. If we said something wrong Roy would take notice and think we were enemies intercepting into the channel.

I saw Max hesitate slightly before taking the radio from Gideon’s hands. He clicked the button to talk on.

“Roger that,” Max said into the black radio. “This is number eleven, all clear.”

“Maxey, boy, am I happy to hear from you,” Roy’s voice came through the radio. He sounded so unbelievably relieved. “I’m taking heavy fire. Request immediate extraction.”

My heart hurt hearing his voice carry through the channel, knowing his mind was tricking him of his surroundings. It wasn’t gunshots he heard, but really just construction sounds being done in the city. I could see Max was also having a hard time hearing his best friend stuck in such a delusion.

“What are your coordinates?” Max asked him.

“Unknown. I lost my land navigational aids. I went high, but I don’t recognize anything. I don’t have a fix on my grid coordinates.”

There was a constant buzzing sound from wherever Roy was, it was hard to hear his voice come clearly through the radio.

“Any other way for him to signal his location?” Gideon asked Max.

Max only took a second to think.

“Did you put up any flags?” he said into the radio.

“Yeah, you bet your ass I did,” I heard Roy say from the radio. “I’m holding cover here.”

“Roger that. Hold your position.”

Max turned to us.

“He triangulated. We need to look for three large, colored flags. Maybe on rooftops. They’ll be identical in size and shape.”

“Did you get that, Garcia?” JJ said to the telephone, where Penelope was on speaker phone.

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Number eleven, do you still read me?” Roy asked.

“Garcia,” Gideon said.

We had to respond back soon.

“I’m working as fast as I can,” Penelope said.

“I can still read you loud and clear. Stay put,” Max told Roy.

“I found one. I found one. I got them. I see.... housing projects and a courtyard,” Penelope said.

“We need street names, Garcia,” Hotch said.

The time was ticking. The longer Roy was out there, the longer the people around him are in danger. Also Roy himself.

“Farmer and Capron! Farmer and Capron!” Penelope yelled.

“I know where that is. There’s some abandoned buildings right there. I’ll have construction sites to halt work and secure the streets,” Detective Fuller said, his dark brown eyes looking over at the team.

“He’s gonna expect men in fatigues and a chopper as cover,” Max said to the detective.

“I can take care of the choppers,” Detective Fuller said.

“We’re in black SUV’s. Tell him we’re security executives. You’re coming with us. We need to do this fast. Tell him to stay there, we’re coming to him,” Hotch told Max.

“Roy, we’re coming to you, buddy,” Max said into the radio.

The others left quickly. With the SWAT team, Gideon, Hotch, and Derek left to go apprehend Roy. Max went too so that Roy would be comfortable seeing the familiar face of his friend.

I was getting a cup of water in the small kitchen of the precinct as the game of waiting for the team to come back with good news continued on.

On one hand, I don’t know if I’d be much help, especially with my arm still in bandages; on the other, I’d at least feel like I’m helping.

In the room across from me, through the windows I saw Mrs. Woodridge sitting in a chair. JJ was in the room waiting with her.

I entered, knocking on the door first before going in the room.

“Hey,” I said.

JJ and Mrs. Woodridge turned to me.

“Hey,” JJ said back to me.

I walked over to Mrs. Woodridge and handed her the cup of water. It was supposed to be for me, but when I saw the tears creeping down Mrs. Woodridge’s face, something in me compelled my hand to give her the water.

“Thank you,” she whispered, accepting the water.

She drank it all down in one gulp.

I sat down next to her. All three of us sat in silence in the room as we waited for the team to call us that Roy was safely rescued.

“I hope he’s okay,” Mrs. Woodridge said beside me.

I looked to my left at her.

Her eyes were swimming with tears.

“I hope so too,” I said. Then she grabbed my hand and held it firmly in hers.

I let her.

We got the call ten minutes later.

Roy was dead. Shot. He was heading toward a civilian, a child, and a sniper on a roof shot him. He thought Roy was going to hurt the child. We knew he wasn’t going to, but the sniper didn’t know that and didn't hesitate for the killing shot.

I looked back to Mrs. Woodridge.

She didn’t say anything. Her face fell forward to her hands in her lap. My heart twisted in sorrow for her.

“Mrs. Woodridge..... we are truly sorry,” JJ said. I could her the tears in her voice.

Mrs. Woodridge broke then. Her shoulders beginning to shake.

Hesitantly I brought my hand up and held it in the air for second before bringing it down to lay gently on her shoulder. I brushed my thumb back and forth as JJ sat on the other side, holding a now widowed Mrs. Woodridge in her arms.

-

“Folks, uh, thank you so much for coming here. No one ever makes this place a priority. We’re grateful to you,” Detective Fuller said to us, as we were packing up our things.

“I wish it had ended differently,” Emily told the detective.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Hey. Has anyone seen Gideon?” Emily asked.

I shook my head.

“Agent Gideon left some time ago. Said he’d meet you all at the airport,” Detective Fuller said.

“Did he say where he went to?” JJ asked.

“Hm, no.”

“I think I know where he is,” Hotch said.

Hotch soon left to go find Gideon.

We finished packing up our things and headed out to the jet in under an hour.

When Max came back to the precinct he went over to Mrs. Woodridge and hugged her tightly against him, still wearing the bullet proof FBI vest he left the precinct in.

“I’m sorry, Diana,” he was repeating over and over. Her sobs racked her frail body.

They left the precinct shortly to go and see Roy’s body.

There wasn’t much more I could do to help her and Max’s grief. Right now all they needed was each other now to get through their shared grief over Roy Woodridge.

It wasn't fair. Roy deserved a better life than what he was given. When will human beings stop all the unnecessary wars? Unnecessary deaths. When will we be at peace? Will we ever?

“Is everything all right between you and Reid?”

I looked up from my book over to Emily sitting across from me.

The jet was silent, most of the team asleep. We were about an hour into the ride home. Emily and I were sitting in the two seats parallel to each other, away from the rest of the team. Just when I was beginning to worry that Hotch and Gideon weren’t going to make it to the jet on time, their footfalls sounded up the steps of the jet a couple minutes before we took off and took their respective seats without saying a word.

“Why?” I said, instead of answering her question.

Emily shrugged.

“The past couple of cases before Groton you guys actually talked. Played chess. Now you’re avoiding each other.”

“I thought there was an unspoken rule to not profile the other members,” I said, thinking back to what Spencer said to me on the car ride to Hankel’s house.

“Mari,” was all Emily said.

I sighed, knowing she wasn’t going to let it go. I put my book facedown on the little table in front of me and leaned in closer to Emily.

Whispering, I said, “You've noticed Spencer’s changed behavior, right?”

She nodded.

I debated whether or not I should mention Derek and Spencer’s conversation on the jet.

“I... I told him I haven’t seen him act this way before. He got upset, and we kinda got into a fight,” my voice trailed off.

I decided not to mention their conversation. I wasn't meant to hear it anyway.

Emily sighed.

“I may not have known Reid as long as the others, but I know he doesn’t do well with opening up to people.”

“I mean I don’t really either,” I muttered.

“That’s not good, Mari.”

“It’s not that easy,” I said to Emily. “I get where he’s coming from.”

“He did get kidnapped and tortured. That'll affect anybody.”

“Yeah, so I can’t really force him to say anything, right?” I said, uncertainly.

I still unsure what I should do with Spencer. Two sides within me were fighting with each other about this whole confusing thing. Could I really help Spencer, or was I just going to make it somehow worse for him?

“Mari, I don’t know what to tell you, but knowing Reid... I think it’s probably best you let him deal with it on his own.”

“Okay,” I said. “Okay.”

I could do that.

I returned to my book I was reading.

I don’t know if it was pure coincidence or not, but on the page that I stopped on, there was a quote that caught my eye, and left me thinking deeply the rest of the jet rid back to Quantico.

“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds,” Laurell K. Hamilton, _Mistral's Kiss._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me tell you guys this was SUCH A SAD EPISODE. I almost cried when Roy got shot, and I don't cry ever. An unsub that makes you feel sorry for him. I also loved how this episode reflected Spencer's own PTSD subtly. How did you feel about this chapter?
> 
> 💖💖 Again thanks for the hits💖💖


	16. From Square One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows season 2, episode 18: Jones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow another milestone 2,000 hits!!! Thank you 💖💖
> 
> Please enjoy the chapter! ;)
> 
> 💋

“Girl, your mom is going to whoop your ass when she finds out you got stitches.”

I let out another sigh for what seemed like to be the hundredth time today.

“Not if you don’t tell her,” I tersely told Zu.

[Suzume Yamashita](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/d3/5a/15/d35a15f98b4cf16f1de6a4b598055e77--satomi-ishihara.jpg), my cousin’s wife, aka Zu, was an enthusiastic individual.

To say the least.

My family and I were very close. Even my extended family like my cousins were like siblings to me since we see each other so often. One of my many cousins, Julian, on my mother’s side met Zu while on vacation in Hawaii, where Zu was born.

They were both in college at the time, and after having a good time together for a couple weeks over there, they decided to stay in touch, and had a long-distance relationship for almost two years.

After graduating from college, Zu soon moved out here to the D.C area and she and Julian got married over four years ago.

I’ve known Zu since I was a teenager. She was very beautiful with straight black hair, tanned skin, and pink lips. Zu was only twenty-nine, not much older than me. Honestly, she felt like the older sister I never had.

Right now Zu was driving me to the doctor’s office to get my stitches removed. I didn’t have my wrappings on for today, so I was occasionally staring at my left arm, examining the way the black stitches were holding my skin together in a zig-zag pattern.

I’d never gotten stitches before Atlanta. Really the only major injury I’ve had in my life was dislocating my right knee.

Twice.

Now that was painful as all hell.

The feeling of the doctor relocating the knee bone back into its spot was one of the worse things I have ever felt in my life other than, you know, having my flesh ripped out from the jaws of a wild dog.

I was fifteen the first time.

I was playing a game of soccer with my cousins, in fact with Julian, who had pushed me roughly into a ditch to stop me from scoring the goal, which I _totally_ was going to, and I dislocated my knee from the fall.

The fall also managed to lightly bruise my ribs, but that didn't take too long to heal and was not nearly as painful as my knee dislocating. Julian swore he didn't mean to push me that hard, but he still got in trouble by his mom.

I remember my mother was pissed at Julian for months.

The second time was in college. I was at dance practice, and during a warm-up I swiftly twisted on the same exact knee. I fell to the ground as my knee popped out simultaneously.

Zu was there at the hospital with me holding my hand as the doctor snapped my knee back into place while I was trying and failing to hold back my tears.

That is why my right knee is significantly weaker than my left one. Sometimes if I have to do any rigorous physical activity, I'd have to wear a knee brace just as a precaution to prevent it from dislocating again, which sucks.

Carrying around crutches also sucked big time. Especially in high school. People called me ‘Crip’ for the four months that I was on crutches.

“Oh, I’m not saying I’m going to tell her. I’m saying she’s going to find out and you’re going to be in even more trouble for not telling her yourself,” said Zu.

“Stop saying that. She isn’t going to find out,” I said to her without much confidence in my voice.

Mamá always seemed to find out everything. I was going to be in so much trouble.

I actually wasn’t going to tell anyone outside of work about my stitches. Because of the cold weather, I managed to hide my left arm from my friends and family by wearing long-sleeved shirts.

However, my car was in the shop because the brakes were absolutely wrecked from old age.

Unfortunately the shop was very busy.

They told me it would take over two hours for my car to be ready. And _unfortunately_ , today was the day of my scheduled doctor’s appointment which I couldn’t miss, so I had to call Zu to drive me to the doctor’s office.

I decided to tell Zu because even though she was sometimes difficult to deal with, I knew with all her joking around she wouldn’t tell a soul about my injury. Of course she was very concerned when I told her how I got the stitches though.

Zu pulled into the parking lot of the doctor’s office.

“Is it going to hurt to get your stitches off?” Zu asked me, parking the car.

“I don’t fucking know! I’ve never gotten stitches before,” I said.

God, I hope it didn’t hurt.

My doctor, Doctor Rodriguez told me the way she’ll get my stitches out is she’ll cut the thread at the base of the knot, then pull the rest of the thread through the other side.

“Okay, I’m going to cut the thread. Ready?” She asked me.

“Yep,” I breathed out and watched as the surgical scissors got closer to my left arm.

It wasn’t that bad thankfully.

Just slightly alarming seeing the sharp scissors get closer to my skin. But just twenty minutes later, with my arm bandaged up again, and antibiotics in hand, me and Zu were on our way.

Without the stiches, my arm looked somehow worse since I could see the actual holes from the dog bite. Though I could also see they were scabbing up like the other injuries on my chest, stomach, and shoulders.

“Healing wounds will itch,” Doctor Rodriguez told me. “And it is important that you don’t scratch it. Scratching can introduce infection into the wound. It will take months for the wound and the scar to finally mature. For the first two to three months, there will be a raised healing ridge. Over the next couple of months, it will flatten. You will have scars because of how seriously you were bitten.”

“Sorry, about the scar,” Zu said. We drove out of the parking lot and now heading over to my apartment.

“I don’t mind,” I told her. “Scars look cool.”

It was true. I’ve always thought scars looked really cool and badass. I didn’t mind it.

“I mean your mom is definitely going to notice it.”

_Ah, fuck._

-

Entering the BAU on a Monday morning was like most days I’ve had here at the BAU.

We had a case.

This time in New Orleans, Louisiana.

I didn’t have much time to settle down at my desk before JJ tapped my shoulder and told me to be in the conference room within two minutes.

I was given the only available desk which was right next to Spencer’s, who currently wasn’t at his. His desk, I noticed, was a mess of papers and files that were scattered across the top.

Walking into the conference room, I sat down in the chair beside Emily. Spencer was there at the table already on the other side of Emily.

He was sat on her left. He was quiet, his face long accompanied with the now familiar dark circles rimming his eyes. No different from last week.

After our case in Houston, the air of silence between us was palpable and still awkward.

“We’ve got a serial killer in New Orleans who killed at least three men pre-Katrina. Until now, the New Orleans police department believed that the serial killer died in the storm,” JJ presented the case to us.

“What’s happened to tell them otherwise?” Derek asked.

“A fourth body was found in the French Quarter last night. Same M.O. Another male. Throat slashed. Eviscerated.”

By eviscerated, JJ meant the victim was disemboweled.

The crime scene photos on the monitor revealed a man with his throat cut, blood pouring out, and his lower half cut open with blood flowing out as well.

I looked away from the image down to the file in front of me.

“A year and a half? That’s a long cooling-off period. Are we sure this is the same unsub?” Emily asked.

“He claims to be. He sent a letter to William LaMontagne, the head detective on the case,” JJ said.

So was the unsub mocking the detective? Sending a letter to the lead detective was ballsy. He was confident.

“Does LaMontagne have any leads?” Gideon asked.

“He died in Katrina. His son is actually heading the case now.”

“Hmm. That can’t be easy,” Derek noted.

“Well, we need to pour over the evidence from the first three murders and determine the pattern,” Hotch said lowly.

“Katrina washed everything away. The three victims we know of, their autopsy reports, witness statements, DNA test results,” JJ said.

Oh, no.

“So, basically, all we have to go on is the latest victim?” Spencer asked.

“Yeah,” JJ said.

“Until he kills again,” Hotch said. "Wheels up in thirty."

“These are copies of the newspaper articles on the murders, dating back to early August 2005. It’s all we have to go on,” JJ explained on the jet.

She handed me copies of the newspaper articles.

The words were inked in small print and were close together.

My nemesis.

“He killed three times, he stopped for eighteen months, then he started killing again,” Hotch said.

“We should have Garcia run a list of any offenders in the area. Anyone who spent the last year and a half doing time,” Gideon said.

“Or anyone that relocated after Katrina and recently moved back,” Spencer said.

_Smart thinking._

“What is the victimology in killing a mechanic, a real estate broker, and a cook, with ages ranging from twenty-two to forty-five?” Emily asked beside me.

This unsub’s victimology was inconsistent. From different kinds of jobs to varying ages. No real pattern of relevance.

“And this latest is a 33-year-old taxi driver. They just don’t seem to have very much in common,” JJ said.

“Besides being male and walking the French Quarter late at night,” Derek said.

“Which is notorious for muggings off the main drag,” JJ added.

“Yeah, but this guy isn’t in a rush to flee the scene. A slaughter like this takes time,” Emily said, referring to the way the victim’s body was mutilated.

“Andrei Chikatilo fantasized that the men he killed were his captives and then torturing and mutilating them somehow made him a hero,” Spencer quipped.

Andrei Chikatilo. The Rostov Ripper. I did an assignment on him back in my criminology classes. Icky human being.

“The city’s barely back to life,” Gideon said. “Something like this could cripple its psyche.”

“Where do we start?” I asked. That was the one question I didn’t know the sure answer to. With only one body, and no evidence from the other victims, where could we go off on?

“Well, with no case file there’s only one place we can start,” Hotch said.

“From square one."

Hotch sent me, Emily, and Spencer to the coroner’s office to analyze the autopsy of the recent victim. Derek, JJ, and Gideon went to the latest crime scene with Detective William LaMontagne’s son, who also had the same first name, and just went by Detective Will.

He was a man in his late-twenties with baby blue eyes, a light scruff of beard, and a thick southern accent, so thick it was hard for me to understand what he was saying when I first met him back at the precinct.

“Four layers of fatty tissue sliced through like butter. I only seen that three other times.”

The coroner’s, Devereaux, voice rang out in the morgue, his southern accent thickly coating his words.

“You work this case initially?” Spencer asked him.

“Nah,” he said. “You don’t forget victims like this. It’s like they were dissected.”

“I can still smell the alcohol on him,” Emily noted.

So that’s what that smell was. It was an almost intense scent that entered my nostrils when I entered the morgue.

“This is New Orleans. Dead or alive, it’s a smell you get used to,” Devereaux quipped.

“The victim has no defense wounds. Meaning this is most likely a blitz attack,” Spencer observed.

He moved to the other side of the table, as Emily lifted up the plastic covering over our latest victim.

“No hesitation marks or rapid thrusts. Cuts were methodical. Almost procedural,” she said.

“My guess- whoever gutted this guy was taught to,” Devereaux said.

“So he might have medical training?” I asked him.

“How else could he carve around every organ and leave each one intact?”

So he was medically trained. He knew the human anatomy. Maybe a doctor. Or a medical student.

“Have any of his relatives come to claim the body? Anyone we can speak with?” Emily asked Mr. Devereaux.

We still didn’t have a name for the man on the table.

“No. I’ll end up boxing up the poor bastard’s ashes, left to collect dust in storage. All the bodies I’ve been through in the last year and a half, it’s a wonder I still have room,” Mr. Devereaux said.

He was referring to all the bodies being recovered from the storm that also killed the head Detective LaMontagne.

“Okay, well thank you for your time,” Emily said to Devereaux.

We left the coroner’s office, Spencer walking in front of both of us.

“God, I can feel the awkward tension between you two,” Emily said beside me.

I nodded.

“I know.”

Spencer's dark circles were now an almost permanent mark on his pale white skin. And his changed attitude was like the baggage that came with him now.

I liked to believe that things happen for a reason. It made the things that have happened in my past easier to deal with. With Spencer’s case being Tobias Hankel. I thought the trauma he went through with him would make him a stronger person.

But he’s not there.

Not quite yet.

-

New Orleans was an extravagant old town. It was a shame I didn’t have the luxury to explore it more.

The city itself is both beautiful and eerie with its creepy almost evil atmospheric scenery.

The air was pretty humid outside. Not unbearable, but it was a constant presence.

Walking into the New Orleans precinct, Spencer, Emily, and I were met with a projector that showed..... tiny black text on the screen.

“Is that the letter from the unsub?” Emily asked Hotch, who was standing nearby the projector.

“Yeah,” he replied. He thankfully began to read the letter out loud.

_I’m back with a vengeance. I wanted you to know.... The last guy made it easy, being out so late, stumbling home drunk. I enjoyed slicing around his organs, thought about sending you one. He was asking to be ripped,_  
_Don’t you think Boss?_

_Yours truly._

Definitely one cocky son of a bitch.

_Don’t you think Boss?_

Boss?

Why’d he use that kind of wording? It was familiar _._

“To say that the victims were asking to be killed denies all culpability. Most sexual sadists rationalize their own behavior by blaming the victims like that,” Spencer explained the letter to us.

“But there was no evidence of sexual assault in the autopsy,” Emily said back to Spencer.

“He could be a gay man? Stabbing because he needs violence for some type of pleasure,” I suggested to them.

“Every kill he’s acting out a fantasy of revenge,” Hotch said.

“What if he’s trying to act out something else?” Spencer asked Hotch, looking at the projection screen.

“Like what?” Hotch asked.

“With the exception of the victims being men. It’s the same M.O,” Spencer said.

“What are you talking about?” Emily asked him.

“All four victims were found with their throats slashed, eviscerated, and the murders perpetrated in semi-public places after dark. Investigators taunted with the letters addressed to _'Boss,'_ ” Spencer spoke in a rapid pace, almost reminding me of how he was like when I first met him. “The only difference is that case was one hundred years ago and the murders took place in London.”

I connected the dots Spencer was drawing for us.

“Jack The Ripper.”

Jack the Ripper, the most infamous serial killer in history supposedly sent letters to the police, written to _‘Boss’_. We talked about him constantly in my criminology classes. Who didn’t know who Jack The Ripper was?

He was one of the first serial killers I heard about when I was a child that later got me interested into true crime. So many suspects and no one has been found to be the well-renowned killer.

I knew there were many Ripperologist’s, as they were referred as, who made it their job to find the identity of Jack The Ripper to no success.

“The unsub wants us to think that he’s the modern-day version loose in New Orleans,” said Hotch.

-

“So the three of you were out together last night?”

The man Spencer was questioning nodded his head vigorously. The team and I were called out to the scene of the recent crime scene.

The unsub had killed again in an alleyway of the French Quarter sometime last night. A very clear rendition of Jack The Ripper’s classic M.O.

Two of Mark’s, the victim, friends were here now answering Derek’s questions.

“Mark had just paid his tab at one bar and he was on his way to meet us at another,” the man in a plaid shirt said.

“You guys get in any trouble?” Derek asked. “Drunken brawl? Anybody get out of hand?”

“We we’re just out to have fun, you know?” The other man in a green shirt replied. “Minded our own business.”

“Could Mark have met a girl? Maybe upset her boyfriend?”

“No, sir,” plaid-shirt man replied. “He struck out like we all did.”

“Thanks, guys,” Derek said.

“I can hardly keep up with this guy,” Detective Will said in his thick Louisiana accent.

Detective Will told the rest of the team his father, Detective LaMontagne Sr., wrote the word ‘Jones’ on a wall where he died near. No connection so far of the significance of Jones.

“Well, if he’s mimicking Jack The Ripper, that might be precisely the point. He terrorized London for months without ever getting caught,” Emily told him.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d gather your men. We’d like to give you a profile of who you’re up against,” Gideon told Detective Will.

The entire time we were at the crime scene I made a mental note to not look at the dead body lying on the street. I was apprehensive of spiraling into an anxiety attack again.

But I did take little peeks at the body when I could though.

He was in his 30s. Blue jacket, denim jeans. His throat was slashed, the blood splattered against his face. Not to mentioned the deep gash in the poor guy’s abdomen, where the majority of the blood came from.

This guy was just out having fun with his friends, and his life ended right before his eyes.

The team and I were now giving the profile of the unsub to the officers back at the New Orleans precinct.

“The offender we’re looking for is friendly, agile, somewhere between thirty and thirty-five,” Hotch said.

“He’ll allure with charm and kill with rage,” Gideon added in.

“We believe he’s murdering men to reclaim his power. This unsub suffers from low self-esteem, but he probably covers it well. He dresses impeccably to feed the façade,” Emily said.

“Jack The Ripper was an impulsive lust murderer. This offender is organized and calculating. He might stalk his victims for days before killing,” I said to the officers in front of me.

“We believe this killer identifies with Jack The Ripper because he’s lost his own identity. Maybe through years of child abuse... or some catastrophic event,” Gideon said.

“Because he overcompensates to hide his insecurities, we believe he may hold a position of authority at work,” Hotch said.

“And since we think he’s had medical training, consider EMT’s, doctor’s, veterinarians,” Emily said.

“Please be careful. For this unsub, the French Quarter’s a hunting ground,” Gideon said, giving a little laugh. “He’s certainly already proven he knows the terrain.”

The officers were dismissed as we finished up our profile.

After giving the profile, Emily, Gideon, and I made our way over to a desk to begin our search for more clues of our unsub.

After half an hour of going through reports and files, Emily’s phone began to rang.

She went to answer it and put it on speaker phone for Gideon and me to hear.

“Prentiss,” she answered.

“What was the thing Jack The Ripper took from one of his victims? Besides, well, you know, her life?” Penelope asked Emily.

“Oh. Uh- uh.... um,” Emily sputtered.

“Tick tock..... tick tock,” Penelope’s voice came through the phone.

“I don’t know,” Emily yielded.

“A kidney,” I said.

Emily looked at me out the corner of her eyes.

What? I was kind of a geek when it came to serial killers.

“Ding ding ding!! Point to doll face. The answer was indeed a kidney. How horrifyingly fantastic is that?” Penelope said.

“Mm-hmm. And are you going anywhere with this?” Emily asked.

“Just that I found an unsolved murder that happened four months ago in Galveston, Texas, with the same M.O, the victim missing that very organ.”

Penelope blew out a breath.

“I amaze myself.”

I chuckled at the same time Emily said, “Yeah. Me, too. Great work.”

She hung up the phone before I got the chance to say goodbye to Penelope.

“A lot of Katrina refugees relocated there,” Gideon said.

“It could be the same guy,” I mused.

“Call Reid and Morgan. I want the three of you on a plane to Texas tonight,” Gideon said to Emily.

I understood why he wanted them to go. I was still relatively the ‘newbie’ on the team. I’d have to be doing the 'boring' things like going through all the reports and files related to the case that came through.

“Okay.”

Emily got up from the table and went to go call Derek and Spencer.

-

New Orleans really was one hell of a city.

With all its night lights, and lively people shouting, and roaming the streets of the French Quarter drunkenly.

I was _not_ one of those people outside though. I was sitting inside the precinct going through the newspaper articles on the previous murders, which were taking a while due to the tiny text of the newspapers.

Just as I was going to the bathroom for a quick break, my phone began to ring.

I picked it up from the desk and turned it over to the flashing screen.

It was Emily.

She just left for the jet a little over thirty minutes ago where she was going to meet up with Spencer and Derek.

She should be in the air now.... so how was she calling me if she was supposed to be flying to Galveston, Texas?

Slightly confused, I answered the call and brought my phone up to my ear.

“Hello, Emily?”

“Hey, Mari, is Reid there at the precinct with you?” she asked.

I paused.

“Uhh, no...” I said. “I thought he’s with you?”

“No. I called him four times. Nothing.”

I felt a slight feeling of panic rise inside me.

“I don’t know where he is, Emily,” I said.

Emily gave a low sigh on her end of the phone.

“Listen, Mari, the jet’s ready to go, the victim’s fiancée is expecting us any minute. I don’t have much I can do at the moment, but can you try and find Reid?”

Gideon and Hotch were busy looking into the backgrounds of potential unsubs. JJ went to work out on the details of the case somewhere with Detective Will. I guess I was the only one left she could ask.

“Uh, sure. I can try,” I said.

“Thanks. The jet’s taking off, talk to you later.”

Emily ended the call.

I tossed my phone back onto the table and leaned back against the chair.

_Where do I even begin to look for Spencer? He could be anywhere in the city of New Orleans._

I sat there racking my mind for a couple minutes before a thought struck me.

I picked my phone back up and clicked the familiar contact picture and pressed call.

“Hello, mon ami. What can I do you for?” Penelope’s voice echoed out to me after the first couple rings.

“Penelope, I need you to do something for me. No questions asked please.”

“Ooh, something illegal? Just when I was getting bored over here. Give it to me, doll face,” she said.

“Can you track Spencer’s phone?” I said.

She paused.

“But isn’t...”

“Remember? No questions asked,” I said, feeling slightly bad for saying this to her.

“Right, right! Sure.”

I heard her loud typing away on her keyboard through the phone.

“I can usually track a cell phone within three meters, but sometimes there are physical barriers that can block a signal. So let’s just hope that won’t be the case here, andddd... bam! It isn’t. Boy Wonder’s phone is located on Canal street in the French Quarter at... hmm- at a bar.”

He's at a bar? Did he ditch the flight to Galveston so he could drink?

“What is it called?” I asked Penelope.

“Burgundy Bar.”

I kept the name in mind.

“Thanks, Penelope.”

“Yeah, no problem. Hey, Mari," she blurted out before I ended the call. "Be safe, please."

I knew she wanted to ask what this was about, but refrained herself, instead subtly saying it to me with her words of caution.

I smiled.

“Of course. Don’t worry, I will.”

I found myself standing in front of Burgundy Bar. It was well into the night of New Orleans, but people were still up and about in the haunting city. Dancing in the streets.

Some couples I noticed were kissing.... some were doing a whole lot more than kissing.

The inside of the bar was a classy place. Wood covered the entirety of the bar as its main aesthetic. It was relatively empty, and quiet, so it didn’t take long for me to find Spencer.

He was sitting at the bar, in one of the bar stools, a drink in hand.

It took me some time to approach him with the needed confidence, but eventually my feet led me over to Spencer’s side.

He didn’t see me until I spoke, his eyes too focused on liquid in his glass cup.

“Spencer.”

His face turned to me.

“What are you doing here?”

“Why aren’t you on the plane with Emily and Derek?” I asked, instead of answering his question.

Spencer didn’t answer. His eyes went back to the drink in his hand instead.

“Emily called you four times and you never answered.”

“There’s no cell phone reception in here in case you didn’t notice,” Spencer said tersely.

“What are you doing here anyway? You could be helping us out on the case.”

Spencer stood up from the bar.

“I don’t need this,” he muttered.

He walked to the entrance of the bar, heading out.

I hurried out after him.

Like before back at the homeless shelter in Houston, Spencer walked over to the sidewalk and appeared as though he was walking all the way to the precinct. Again, the precinct was a walkable distance from here, even closer than it was back in Houston.

Instead of walking up to his side like last time, I stuck to staying behind him. Keeping a close enough distance so I wouldn’t lose him among the throng of other people, but far enough that I wasn't _too_ close for comfort.

Before I knew it, we were back at the precinct. Spencer entered through the main doors of the precinct with me a few steps behind him.

Spencer started to quicken his pace towards the men’s bathroom.

_Uh, uh. Nope._

Using all of my 5’6 height to catch up with his 6 foot stature I raced in front of Spencer and managed to slam my body up against the bathroom door he was heading towards.

Maybe a bit too roughly.

Spencer halted his rushed stride, surprised at my sudden appearance.

“Mari, could you move? I need to use the bathroom,” he said.

“I don’t think you do. I think you just want to avoid me,” I said.

Spencer pursed his lips.

He walked away, and I peeled myself off the door of the bathroom to follow after him. 

It seemed like Spencer had no particular direction to go in the unacquainted building. Some of the officers in the precinct took quick, confused glances at us which I tried to ignore.

I looked around where we were.

There were a lot of rooms with large windows that revealed they were unoccupied inside.

Without hesitation, I grabbed a hold of Spencer’s white shirt sleeve, careful not to touch his exposed skin, and pulled him towards one of the rooms on my left.

Spencer looked at me with a confused look on his face.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

I didn’t answer and just tightened my grip on his sleeve. I kept dragging Spencer towards the room, flung the door open and hauled Spencer inside before shutting the door and locking it.

The room was relatively empty with only a single table in the middle, and a couple chairs surrounding it.

I went over to one of the windows and closed the blinds, then went over to close the other blinds, so the officers outside won’t see we were in here and come in to interrupt.

We’d have complete privacy.

It was now dimmed in the room we were in, the tiniest amount of light shown through the cracks of the blinds.

I pressed my back against the door and crossed my arms, feeling the plastic blinds cut into my back, to keep Spencer from leaving.

Now we were completely alone. We haven’t talked together with each other in weeks, but it felt longer than that.

“What are you doing, Mari?” Spencer asked again.

His face was covered in shadows that highlighted his features more prominently.

“I had to get you alone. We need to talk,” I said.

“So,” Spencer waved his arms around. “Let’s talk. You didn’t need to drag me into an empty room and lock me in here!”

“I think I did. You couldn’t even talk to me in the bar. You couldn’t even look at me back in Houston. So yeah, I needed to lock you in here, so we can have a chat and settle some things.”

“Like what?”

“You went to a bar instead of answering Emily’s calls-“

“I told you, I didn’t have any reception.”

“I’m sorry to say this, Spencer, but I just can’t believe that.”

His eyes narrowed a bit at me.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You need help,” I said to Spencer. “It’s affecting your job. You can’t keep going like this.”

Spencer smoothed his hair back from his face.

“Mari, I actually do need to use the bathroom, so if you could just let me go...”

“No, Spencer, we need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about!” Spencer insisted, his arms spreading open to his sides. “And I told you- you need to stay out of my business. You barely know me; we just work together. Why do you even care?”

Why do I care?

“I care because I’m a human being, Spencer. When I see someone hurting I want to help as much as I can.”

“You’re wrong because I’m not hurting.”

Spencer paused.

“Now can you please let me out. I really have to go,” he said.

I opened my mouth to say no: we weren’t done with our conversation- when I noticed something.

Spencer’s face was covered in little sweat droplets that I didn’t notice before. I looked down at his body.

My eyes narrowed in on his hands. They were shaking and sweating.

It wasn’t hot or anything. The temperature was fine. But he’s also sweating the same like on his face.

Tremors were now racking his thin body now ever so subtly.

Shaky hands, abnormal sweating, trembling, were a common occasion that happened if-

I looked right into Spencer’s eyes. There was a familiar look I saw in his honey colored eyes. A look I saw a lot back when I worked at the DEA.

“Are you on drugs?”

Spencer eyes roamed around the room we were in.

“What?” he squeaked. Spencer shook his head back and forth. “That’s crazy, I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 _It all makes sense now,_ I thought.

His mood swings, his attitude, his dark circles from lack of sleep, it wasn’t just because of his PTSD.

He was using.

Why haven’t I noticed any signs of withdrawal before?

My mind flashed back to Atlanta at Marshall Parish when we went to save Spencer. 

_I looked past Gideon to see Spencer was leaning back over Tobias. Doing something? I couldn’t tell what._

_He said Tobias used dilaudid to escape and forget,_ JJ's voice repeated in my head.

He took dilaudid from Tobias?

Spencer’s eyes were glued to the floor.

“Have you been experiencing any nausea, muscle aches, or stomach cramps?” I asked him, softly.

“Mari, please, I-I need to go to the bathroom now,” Spencer pleaded.

He needed to go to hit up.

“You know I can’t let you do that,” I said.

“Don’t tell the team,” Spencer pleaded.

“Who’s to say they already don’t know?” I asked him. “They’re profilers. I noticed your changed behavior; it won't take long for them to notice your withdrawals.”

I just kept talking to keep Spencer from leaving the room. The team definitely knew something was up with Spencer, but did they know he was on drugs?

“They won’t notice it if you let me go _now,_ " Spencer insisted.

I thought about it.

Spencer didn’t deserve this. If Hotch found out Spencer was doing drugs, he’d be fired.

I couldn’t let that happen.

If I take away the drugs from Spencer now, the team will notice him withdrawing and he’d go to jail for illegal drug use.

I couldn't let that happen.

“We’re going to talk about this later,” I finally said.

Reluctantly, I slowly removed myself from the door and moved over to the side.

Spencer tore open the door, letting the light from the precinct come into the room. He hurried out the room to go... _hit up_ , I guess.

I stood in the empty dark room for what felt like forever collecting all my thoughts.

Spencer was on drugs.

What do I do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got rid of ‘Reid meeting his friend from Vegas’ since we never see his friend again. This episode was so fun because of The Jack The Ripper plotline. I find serial killers interesting. What's wrong with me?
> 
> How'd you feel about the introduction of Zu? The reveal of Reid taking dilaudid? I have a plan you guys, don't worry.
> 
> 💝Have a good day💝


End file.
